Syne we heard tell o' him in far awa' bits like Russia; and syne cam' the end o' the war and we lookit to see him back, fishin' the waters and ridin' like Jehu as in the auld days.

But wae's me! It wasna permitted.

The next news we got, the puir laddie was deid o' influenzy and buried somewhere about France.

The wanchancy bullet maun have weakened his chest, nae doot.
So that's the end o' the guid stock o' Kennedy o' Huntingtower, whae hae been great folk sin' the time o' Robert Bruce.

And noo the Hoose is shut up till the lawyers can get somebody sae far left to himsel' as to tak' it on lease, and in thae dear days it's no' just onybody that wants a muckle castle." "Who are the lawyers ?" Dickson asked.
"Glendonan and Speirs in Embro.