Archie, it appeared, had been a soldier in his young days, but when he came to settle in Ardmuirland his time of service had expired; that was long ago, for he was now quite an elderly man.  He took up his residence in a deserted mill, by the Ardmuir Burn.  As he proved to be thoroughly quiet and inoffensive, the neighbors—­true to their national character, not speedily attracted by strangers—­began in course of time to make his acquaintance, and he eventually became a great favorite with all.  When younger, Penny had been told, he had been “a wonderful good gardener,” and for trifling payment, or in return for a meal, would always “redd-up” the gardens of the district.  Thus he acquired the designation of “Airchie Gairdener,” and by that was usually known.

What his neighbors could not comprehend was how Archie spent these small earnings, but more especially to what use he had put his army pension, which every one knew he once received regularly.  He had no occasion to buy food, for kindly neighbors would always exchange for meal or eggs the varied produce of his well-cultivated garden.  His clothes cost him nothing; for he had worn the same old garments for years past, and though no self-respecting tramp would have accepted them, he never seemed anxious to replace them.  If any others were given him, he would use them for a time, out of compliment to the donor, but the ancient attire would always reappear after a short interval.

“As to where his money goes,” summed up Penny, “I’ve a notion that his Reverence knows more than any one else except Archie himself.  Poor Archie often asks for the priest, and I’ve heard his Reverence speaking to him in quite an angry way—­for him,” she added quickly; “but there’s never any change in Archie’s way of living.  Some of the people here think he’s a perfect saint, and I’m not so sure that they’re far wrong!  However, I think he ought to take ordinary care of his ’ealth; that seems to me a duty even for saints!”

I tried to glean more details from Val, but found him strangely reticent.

“Poor old fellow!  A good soul, if ever there was one!” was the only remark I could elicit.

This air of mystery made me more than ever desirous of learning something about Archie’s antecedents.  It was this curiosity which led me, in the first instance, to visit his tumbledown dwelling.  It was a quaint establishment.  A moderately large garden surrounded it on three sides, roughly fenced in from the woodland, its fence interwoven with gorse branches to keep out rabbits.  The varied supplies of vegetables were evidence of Archie’s industry, in spite of his rheumatism.  It was by the produce of this garden that the old man obtained in return the oatmeal and milk which formed his staple food; for he could no longer work for others.

The house itself was a picture!  Its aged roof seemed to have bent beneath the weight of years; for the ridge had sunk in the middle of its mossy, grass-grown expanse, and threatened to fall upon its occupant to the peril of his life.  A small barrel served for a chimney.  One window possessed still two small panes of glass; the other openings were filled in with bits of boarding, as was the whole of the other window.