“From the window I saw you on the waste ground that separated the school from our home.  You were coming to me on your hands and feet, and stopping now and again to look back at your mother, who was at the door, laughing and shaking her fist at you.  I beckoned to you, and took the book back to my desk to lock it up.  While my head was inside the desk I heard the school-house door pushed open, and thinking it was you I smiled, without looking up.  Then something touched my hand, and I still thought it was you; but I looked down, and I saw Adam Dishart’s black dog.

“I did not move.  It looked up at me and wagged its tail.  Then it drew back—­I suppose because I had no words for it.  I watched it run half-round the room and stop and look at me again.  Then it slunk out.

“All that time one of my hands had been holding the desk open.  Now the lid fell.  I put on my bonnet and went to the door.  You were only a few yards away, with flowers in your fist.  Margaret was laughing still.  I walked round the school and there was no dog visible.  Margaret nodded to me, meaning that I should bring you home.  You thrust the flowers into my hand, but they fell.  I stood there, dazed.

“I think I walked with you some way across the waste ground.  Then I dropped your hand and strode back to the school.  I went down on my knees, looking for marks of a dog’s paws, and I found them.

“When I came out again your mother was no longer at our door, and you were crying because I had left you.  I passed you and walked straight to the house.  Margaret was skinning rushes for wicks.  There must have been fear in my face, for as soon as she saw it she ran to the door to see if you were still alive.  She brought you in with her, and so had strength to cry, ‘What is it?  Speak!’

“‘Come away,’ I said, ‘come away,’ and I was drawing her to the door, but she pressed me into a chair.  I was up again at once.

“‘Margaret,’ I said, ’ask no questions.  Put on your bonnet, give me the boy, and let us away.’

“I could not take my eyes off the door, and she was walking to it to look out when I barred the way with my arm.

“‘What have you seen?’ she cried; and then, as I only pointed to her bonnet, she turned to you, and you said, ’Was it the black dog, father?’

“Gavin, then she knew; and I stood helpless and Watched my wife grow old.  In that moment she lost the sprightliness I loved the more because I had none of it myself, and the bloom went from her face never to return.

“‘He has come back,’ she said.

“I told her what I had seen, and while I spoke she put on her bonnet, and I exulted, thinking—­and then she took off her bonnet, and I knew she would not go away with me.

“‘Margaret,’ I cried, ‘I am that bairn’s father.’

“‘Adam’s my man,’ she said, and at that I gave her a look for which God might have struck me dead.  But instead of blaming me she put her arms round my neck.