Juley had wakened, and was rummaging in her stuffed hand-bag for Sholto’s letter. To find it, she had to turn everything out upon the seat beside her. There were various purses and pocket-books – part of her complicated system of accounts – also several handkerchiefs, a good pair of gloves to put on when she reached Edinburgh, some tracts – pink and yellow – and the paper bag in which the breakfast roll had been, now folded and neatly encircled by an elastic band. Linnet pounced on a piece of toffee he had given to his mother a week ago. But he and his brother at once stopped fighting for the sweet when at length Juley began to read aloud from the sheets of crackling paper written over in the father’s fine flourishing hand-writing.

“… The blessed work goes on famously here, thank God,” he wrote. And his wife raised eyes shining with solemn hilarity – eyes none of the children cared to meet. “… Pray Juley, that our little ones may all become workers in His vineyard – Bannermen and Bannerwomen of that Better Country to the end! I have had a troublesome cold this last week, but hope to shake it off in a day or two, D.V. We are having severe weather; and although in other respects superior to ours in Glasgow, the Y.M.C.A. Hall here has a very draughty platform. Tell Georgy-Porgy that Father wears the woolen comforter she knitted for him, and has found it a comforter indeed. But it would hardly do to appear in it while addressing a meeting of 2,000 souls, now would it? Kiss her and Joanna and the boys for me, and tell them Father expects them to look after you in his absence, particularly as to getting you to your bed in decent time…”

“A-ha! Do you hear that, Mother?” interrupted Georgie; but her mother lifted a forefinger for silence.

“Remember,” she continued reading, “that the Body, ordained as the earthly temple in which the soul dwells during our brief sojourn here, needs reasonable rest and care until that joyful Day of our Release. To die in harness has always been my prayer, but we have been given certain Rules of Health on the most sacred authority, as also the Common Sense enabling us to observe them. May God guide you, my dear wife, in all wisdom, and give you ever more deeply that Peace which passeth all understanding.

“Your affectionate husband

“JOHN SHOLTO BANNERMAN.”

Before she was quite finished, Juley’s voice broke, and she wiped her eyes with simple ostentation.

“Thank God, children, for such a father as you have!” she exclaimed. Then finding that Sholto had added a post-script to his letter – “Since writing this,” she read out, “my cold has become worse, and seems now to be on my chest (not chest of drawers, tell Linnet!), but Mrs. Ross here is a kind body and a great poulticer, so I expect, D.V., to throw it off shortly.”