I. A. R. Wylie

“ There, hanging in all the glory of real oak frame, was a lifelike portrait of the curate.
Sandy McGrab sat down again. He had a dull recollection of the sable lady putting her arm around him, of a faint, delicious perfume of violets, of some one murmuring: “Poor fellow! starving, you know,” of a soft hand on his forehead; then all passed away into a merciful darkness and oblivion.
III.
When Sandy McGrab came back to a knowledge of the world, it was broad daylight. ”

“ It is wonderful what hope and a good breakfast can do for a man. As Sandy McGrab pulled open the front door, he fancied that the pompous person in the rabbit hutch had already tendered him a humble apology, and that the loveliest woman in the world was holding out her hands in welcome. “So you've come, Sandy McGrab!” ”

“ Sandy acknowledged. “Most of us would gang astray in ten years. I'll no say I wouldna mysel'.”
“Aye,” agreed the curate gloomily. He glanced down at the recumbent figure. Sandy McGrab's eyes were closed. He seemed to have fallen asleep again. His tam-o'-shanter had fallen off, and the light from a distant street lamp fell on his disordered shock of brilliant hair. The effect was resplendent, and somehow hid the fact that the rugged, stubborn-looking face beneath was wan, and that the cheek bones stood out with a painful prominence. The curate remembered Samuel Tucker and the damp grass. ”

“ From where they stood, they could see the lights of the big thoroughfare, and the rumble of the motor busses had lost every poetic resemblance. Sandy McGrab set his tam-o'-shanter firmly on his head. He swayed a little, but the set of his jaw was grim.
“It's a very big place,” he said, half to himself and with a faint wistfulness; “a big place. It will be no so easy to find a lady without a name, I'm thinking.”
“You never will,” said John Andrews solemnly. “I pray you never will. Go back to Kirkhumphries, mon. Go back before your faith in womanhood is broken forever. ”

“ He glanced back at the portrait. “But not one as sweet as you!” he added loyally. Then he, too, dropped into the ever-moving stream and was lost to the angry manager's sight.
It is a long call from Kirkhumphries to London, and most of the way Sandy McGrab had walked on “nothing a mile.” He had not tasted food for forty-eight hours, and this was his first night in the great metropolis. The many lights danced before his eyes; at times the pavement showed an inclination to rise up and hit him on the head. The hundreds of changing faces added to his confusion. ”

“ The motor bus tooted a melancholy farewell in the distance, and the Reverend John retraced his steps.
The “something” was at once tragic and pathetic. Quite close to the path, under the shadow of a shrub that those who knew called a yew tree, was a tombstone of comparatively youthful appearance. At least its raison d'être had departed this life in the early eighties, and it still retained a somewhat truculent, never-was-so-sober-in-my-life uprightness. Beside it, with his head buried in his arms, lay the prostrate, grief-stricken figure of a man. ”

“ Sandy McGrab, a young tailor, one day reciting his beloved Shakespeare, in the hills above his native Kirkhumphries, is overheard by a young actress, one of a company of obscure traveling players. and announces herself as a fellow professional. She recognizes his genius, and announces herself as a fellow professional. Sandy's denial that he is an actor leads her to think that he is the “laird,” while he takes her for a famous actress who is expected in the neighborhood. When the truth finally comes out, it serves only to deepen their growing love. ”

“ Sandy McGrab's eyes opened. The curate indicated the tombstone. “Samuel Tucker!” Sandy read out with cold scorn. “My name is McGrab. Did ye ever hear of a Highlander called Tucker?”
The curate shook his head. “It's awfu' what ten years can do with a man,” he commented. “But if ye be no grieving, ye mus'na sit in the grass, laddie.” ”

“ McGrab said, dreamily reminiscent. “We played 'Romeo and Juliet' together, and she said no man had ever played Romeo so grandly before. One day I shall play Romeo again to her, and then I shall marry her.”
The curate groaned aloud.
“A play actress!”
“I'm another,” Sandy remarked gravely; “at least—I'm a play actor. Ye maun be polite. It's an honorable profession.”
“Laddie,” exhorted John Andrews with passion, “go back to Kirkhumphries! Get away from the place of wickedness—free yoursel' from the toils of the evil one! ”

“ He did not believe he had ever seen so many women together in his life. There were all sorts and conditions. A prim little old lady, with her bonnet primly tied under her chin was absent-mindedly warming her toes at an empty grate. Opposite her, a stout person with a feathered hat and a shawl over her shoulders was gesticulating with a gnarled, toil-worn hand. On what might once have been a sofa a very handsome lady in sables reclined gracefully. And there were others.
Sandy McGrab made an effort to retreat. ”

“ For two days I've tried to find a blade of grass and a patch of clean air, and each time I've found it and settled mysel' in for the night, there's been a crowd of bairns and half-sized Englishmen around me, staring for a' the world as if they weren't the pitifulest creatures on God's earth. Then up comes a big laddie in a blue coat and asks me name and address.” Sandy McGrab set his mighty shoulders more firmly against the tombstone. “I told him I was fra Kirkhumphries, but I'll no move on again, and the man who puts me out of here maun take the consequences.” ”

“ I'll no move on——”
“My poor young man——” the curate interrupted, and then stopped short. Even in broad daylight, the travel-stained kilt must have been quite unrecognizable, but whether Stuart or McPherson or Macduff, it was still indubitably a kilt. Sandy McGrab's knees were stained with the damp soil, and the glory of silver buckles was no more. John Andrews drew his breath quickly. “Man,” he said almost with passion, “you're not real?” ”

“ And now he had come out to find a brilliant-hued sunset and an appropriate atmosphere of quiet over the little church and the overcrowded little churchyard.
St. Giles is a wonderful place. It lies in the heart of London. ”

“ This London is full of temptation, of bad, bold women, who have thrown away all true womanly modesty. If ye maun marry, go back to the Highlands, and take to yursel' a good Scotch wife. It's your only hope, Mr. ”