The world was gray, the snow swiftening its approach.

Strickland, passing the kirk, kept on down the one village street.

All and any who were out of doors spoke to him, asking how did the laird.

Some asked if "the young laird" had come.
In the shop where he made his purchase the woman who sold would have kept him talking an hour: "Wad the laird last the week?
Wad he make friends before he died with Mr.Touris of Black Hill with whom he had the great quarrel three years since?
Eh, sirs! and he never set foot again in Touris House, nor Mr.Touris in his!--Wad Mr.Jamie gae now to Edinburgh or on his travels, that had been at home sae lang because the laird wadna part with him ?--Wad Miss Alice, that was as bonny as a rose and mair friendly than the gowans on a June lea, just bide on at the house with her aunt, Mrs.Grizel, that came when the leddy died?
Wad--" Strickland smiled.

"You must just come up to the house, Mrs.Macmurdo, and have a talk with Mrs.Grizel .-- I hope the laird may last the week." "You're a close ane!" thought the disappointed Mrs.Macmurdo.