Though simple, the minister was not without some sad experience of human nature, particularly the nature of wounded heroes, tramping the country for jobs.
"I hope you didn't give him any money," said he.
"He never askit for money!" cried Mary. "Oh, he was not that kind at a'! A maist civil young chap he was, and maist interested to hear where you were gaun, and sic like."
The minister shook his head.
"You told him when I was leaving, and all about it, I suppose?"
"There was nae secret, was there?" demanded Mary.
Mr Burnett looked at her seriously.
"As like as not," said he; "he just wished to know when the man of the house would be away. Mind and keep the doors locked, Mary, and if he comes back, don't let him into the kitchen whatever cock-and-bull story he tells."
He knew that Mary was a sensible enough woman, and having given her this warning, he forgot the whole incident—till later.
Tuesday was fine and warm, a perfect day on which to start a journey, and about mid-day Mr Burnett was packing a couple of bags with a sense of pleasant anticipation, when a telegram arrived. This was exactly how it ran:—