OOR LANG HAME
PETER Bruce was puzzled by a passenger who travelled from the Junction on a late October day, and spoke with a mixed accent. He would not be more than forty years of age, but his hair was grey, and his face bore the marks of unchangeable sorrow. Although he was not a working man, his clothes were brushed to the bone, and his bag could not contain many luxuries. There was not any doubt about his class, yet he did not seem willing to enter the third, but wandered up and down the train, as if looking for a lost carriage. As he passed beyond the van he appeared to have found what he was seeking, and Peter came upon him examining the old Kildrummie third, wherein Jamie Sou-tar had so often held forth, and which was now planted down on the side of the line as a storehouse for tools and lamps. The stranger walked round the forlorn remains and peered in at a window, as if to see the place where he or some one else he knew had sat.
“Ye ken the auld third,” said Peter, anxious to give a lead; “it 's been aff the rails for mair than twal years; it gies me a turn at times tae see it sittin' there like a freend that's fa'en back in the warld.”
As the stranger gave no sign, Peter attached himself to his door—under pretext of collecting the tickets—and dealt skilfully with the mystery. He went over the improvements in Kildrummie, enlarging on the new U. P. kirk and the extension of the Gasworks. When these stirring tales produced no effect, the conclusion was plain.
“It's a fell step tae Drumtochty, an' ye 'll be the better o' the dogcairt. Sandie 's still tae the fore, though he's failin' like's a'; wull a' tell the engine driver tae whustle for't?”
“No, I 'll walk... better folk than I have tramped that road... with loads, too.” And then, as he left the station, the unknown said, as if recollecting his native tongue, “Gude day, Peter; it is a comfort tae sae ae kent face aifter mony changes.”
Something hindered the question on Peter's lips, but he watched the slender figure—which seemed bent with an invisible burden—till it disappeared, and then the old man shook his head.
“It beats me tae pit a name on him, an' he didna want tae be askit; but whaever he may be, he 's sair stricken. Yon's the saddest face 'at hes come up frae the Junction sin a' hoddit Flora Campbell in the second. An' a'm judgin' he 'ill be waur tae comfort.”
The road to Drumtochty, after it had thrown off Kildrummie, climbed a hill, and passed through an open country till it plunged into the pine woods. The wind was fresh, blowing down from the Grampians, with a suggestion of frost, and the ground was firm underfoot. The pungent scent of ripe turnips was in the air, mingled, as one passed a stackyard, with the smell of the newly gathered grain, whose scattered remains clung to the hedges. As the lonely man passed one homestead, a tramp was leaving the door, pursued with contempt.