Only This Once

Over the solemn mountains and the misty moorlands the chill spring night
was falling. David Scott, master shepherd for MacAllister, of Allister,
thought of his ewes and lambs, pulled his Scotch bonnet over his brows,
and taking his staff in his hand, turned his face to the hills.

David Scott was a mystic in his own way; the mountains were to him
"temples not made with hands," and in them he had seen and heard
wonderful things. Years of silent communion with nature had made him
love her in all her moods, and he passionately believed in God.

The fold was far up the mountains, but the sheep knew the shepherd's
voice, and the peculiar bark of his dog; they answered them gladly, and
were soon safely and warmly housed. Then David and Keeper slowly took
their way homeward, for the steep, rocky hills were not easy walking for
an old man in the late gloaming.

Passing a wild cairn of immense stones, Keeper suddenly began to bark
furiously, and a tall, slight figure leaped from their shelter, raised a
stick, and would have struck the dog if David had not called out,
"Never strie a sheep-dog, mon! The bestie willna harm ye."

The stranger then came forward; asked David if there was any cottage
near where he could rest all night, said that he had come out for a
day's fishing, had got separated from his companions, lost his way and
was hungry and worn out.

David looked him steadily in the face and read aright the nervous manner
and assumed indifference. However, hospitality is a sacred tradition
among Scotch mountaineers, whoever, or whatever the young man was, David
acknowledged his weariness and hunger as sufficient claim upon his oaten
cake and his embers.

It was evident in a few moments that Mr. Semple was not used to the
hills. David's long, firm walk was beyond the young man's efforts; he
stumbled frequently in the descent, the springy step necessary when they
came to the heather distressed him; he was almost afraid of the gullies
David took without a thought. These things the old man noted, and they
weighed far more with him than all the boastful tongue could say.

The cottage was soon reached--a very humble one--only "a but and a ben,"
with small windows, and a thatched roof; but Scotland has reared great
men in such cottages, and no one could say that it was not clean and
cheerful. The fire burnt brightly upon the white hearthstone, and a
little round deal table stood before it. Upon this table were oaten
cakes and Ayreshire cheese and new milk, and by its side sat a young man
reading.

"Archie, here is a strange _gentleman_ I found up at Donald's cairn."

The two youths exchanged looks and disliked each other. Yet Archie Scott