This language was too figurative and imposing for the parish, but it ran henceforward in our modest speech, "He's a cautious body." Cautious, with us, meant unassuming, kindly obliging, as well as much more; and I still hear Drumsheugh pronouncing this final judgment of the glen on Lachlan as we parted at his grave ten years later, and adding, "He 'ill be sair missed by the bairns."
While the glen was readjusting itself to Lachlan, I came down from a long tramp on the moor, and intended to inquire for Flora. But I was arrested on the step by the sound of Lachlan's voice in family worship.
"This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry."
Lachlan's voice trembled as he read, but he went on with much firmness:
"Now his elder son was in the field."
"You will not be reading more of that chapter, father," interrupted
Flora, with a new note of authority.
"And why not?" said Lachlan, quite humbly.
"Because you will be calling yourself the elder son and many more bad names, and I will be angry with you."
"But they are true names, and it iss good for me to know myself."
"You hef just one true name, and that iss father…. And now you will be singing a psalm."