"But you have not finished your story, Mr. Cargill," said John, and David sighed as he answered,
"There is naething by the ordinar in it. I went back to the warks I had got a footing in, the Glencart Iron Warks, and gradually won my way to the topmost rungs o' the ladder. I am head buyer now, hae a gude share i' the concern, and i' money matters there's plenty folk waur off than David Cargill. When I put my father's forgiveness, my mither's love, and my Bessie's bonnie lad to the lave, I may weel say that 'they are weel guided that God guides.' A week ago I went into the editor's room o' the Glasgow Herald,' and the man no being in I lifted a paper and saw in it my father's message to me. It's sma' credit that I left a' and answered it."
"What paper, Mr. Cargill, what paper?"
"They ca' it 'The Watchman.' I hae it in my pocket."
"I thought so," said John triumphantly. "It's a grand paper; every one ought to have it."
"It is welcome evermore in my house," said Davie.
"It means weel, it means weel," said Andrew, with a great stretch of charity, "but I dinna approve o' its doctrines at a', and—"
"It found David for you, Andrew."
"Ay, ay, God uses a' kinds o' instruments. 'The Watchman' isna as auld as the Bible yet, John, and it's ill praising green barley."
"Now, Andrew, I think—"