Janet Campbell was called in, and expressed herself willing to take her share—­no small one—­in the responsibility of this plan, if the minister would see to her “ain bairn;” that was, if the minister really thought the scheme a wise one.

“The minister’s opinion seems to carry great weight here,” said Dr. Hamilton, smiling.

And it was so; not merely because of his being a minister, but because, with all his gentle, unassuming ways, he had an excellent judgment—­ the clear, sound, unbiased judgment which no man can ever attain to except a man who thinks little of himself; to whom his own honor and glory come ever second, and his Master’s glory and service first.  Therefore, both as a man and a minister, Mr. Cardross was equally and wholly reliable:  charitable, because he felt his own infirmities; placing himself at no higher level than his neighbor, he was always calmly and scrupulously just.  Though a learned, he was not exactly a clever man:  probably his sermons, preached every Sunday for the last ten years in Cairnforth Kirk, were neither better nor worse than the generality of country sermons; but that matters little.  He was a wise man and a good man, and all his parishioners, scattered over a parish of fourteen Scotch miles, deeply and dearly loved him.

“I think,” said Mr. Cardross, “that this plan has many advantages, and is, under the circumstances, the best that could have been devised.  True, I should like to have had the poor babe under my own eye and my wife’s, that we might try to requite in some degree the many kindnesses we have received from his poor father and mother; but he will be better off in Edinburg.  Give him every possible chance of life and health, and a sound mind, and then we must leave the rest to Him, who would not have sent this poor little one into the world at all if He had not had some purpose in so doing, though what that purpose is we can not see.  I suppose we shall see it, and many other dark things, some time.”

The minister lifted his grave, gentle eyes, and sat looking out upon the familiar view—­the sunshiny loch, the green shore, and the far-away circle of mountains—­while the other two gentlemen discussed a few other business matters.  Then he invited them both to return with him and dine at the Manse, where he and his wife were accustomed to offer to all comers, high and low, rich and poor, “hospitality without grudging.”

So the three walked through Cairnforth woods, now glowing with full spring beauty, and wandered about the minister’s garden till dinner-time.  It was a very simple meal—­just the ordinary family dinner, as it was spread day after day, all the year round:  they could afford hospitality, but show, with the minister’s limited income was impossible, and he was too honest to attempt it.  Many a time the earl himself had dined, merrily and heartily, at that simple table, with the mistress—­active, energetic, cheerful, and refined—­sitting at the head of it, and the children, a girl and boy, already admitted to take their place there, quiet and well-behaved—­brought up from the first to be, like their parents, gentlemen and gentlewomen.  The Manse table was a perfect picture of family sunshine and family peace, and, as such, the two Edinburg guests carried away the impression of it in their memories for many a day.