He had been twice wounded, and it was hard to go back again.

There was no novelty about it now, no eagerness or burning zeal, nothing but a dogged determination to see the thing through.

They had stood together looking over Tweed to the blue ridge of Cademuir and Duncan had broken the silence with a question: "What's the psalm, Father, about the man 'who going forth doth mourn' ?" And with his eyes fixed on the hills the old minister had repeated: "'That man who bearing precious seed In going forth doth mourn, He, doubtless, bringing back the sheaves Rejoicing will return.'" And Duncan had nodded his head and said, "That's it.

'Rejoicing will return.'" And he had taken another long look at Cademuir.
Many wondered what had kept such a man as John Macdonald all his life in a small town like Priorsford.

He did more good, he said, in a little place; he would be of no use in a city; but the real reason was he knew his health would not stand the strain.