It belongs to my nephew, Peter Tait, and has been lying in a drawer ever since he came back from the front.

He has no use for it now that he's a placed minister." So Dickson bestowed in the pockets of his water-proof a service revolver and fifty cartridges, and bade his cab take him to the shop in Mearns Street.

For a moment the sight of the familiar place struck a pang to his breast, but he choked down unavailing regrets.

He ordered a great hamper of foodstuffs--the most delicate kind of tinned goods, two perfect hams, tongues, Strassburg pies, chocolate, cakes, biscuits, and, as a last thought, half a dozen bottles of old liqueur brandy.

It was to be carefully packed, addressed to Mrs.Morran, Dalquharter Station, and delivered in time for him to take down by the 7.33 train.
Then he drove to the terminus and dined with something like a desperate peace in his heart.
On this occasion he took a first-class ticket, for he wanted to be alone.