"What brings ye oot on sic a morning? Are ye no all weel at hame?"
"We are all weel, I am thankful to say, but I am in trouble aboot the rent. Ye ken it is due, and I hae na made oot to save it. I am sair set upon to pay it, and I cam to ask if ye could gie me a helping hand."
It seemed but natural for Robert to ask this help. As his brother had said, he depended on Willie. The two were all that were left of their family, or, rather, of two families; for, though brothers by adoption and affection, they were in reality cousins. Willie's parents had died when he was but a few months old, and his mother's only sister, then lately married to a brother of Willie's father, had taken the orphaned little one and brought him up as her own child. He had repaid her with all the devotion of a loving and thoughtful son; and on her death-bed she had given him, then only fifteen years of age, the charge of Robert, who was six years younger. Her other children had died in infancy, and she had been a widow several years.
"Wullie, ye are a douce lad, for ane o' your years," she had said. "Ye maun aye hae a care o' your brither, and if he doesna get on weel in the warld, dinna spare to lend him a hand. And may the gude God guide you both."
Willie had never forgotten the injunction of his foster-mother, which seemed to him doubly binding from the peculiar character of their relationship. He had had too much care of his brother, in fact, to the manifest detriment of both; for Robert was sadly deficient in self-reliance, and Willie's hard-earned money was too often applied to the support of his brother's family. So when this new demand was made, Willie, with a perplexed look, leaned upon his shovel and remained a moment silent and thoughtful. At length he spoke.
"I dinna see what is to be dune. I am sair straitened for siller mysel'."
"Weel, if ye dinna see a way I canna tell what is to become o' us. I thought I could coont on you to help me out o' my trouble."
"Ye hae coonted on me o'er mony times for the gude o' my purse," said Willie, half in jest and half in earnest; for he had always said to himself, "I can never find it in my heart to be hard upon Rab." "But come into the hoose, Rab," continued he; "we will talk aboot it, and see if there is ony way to mend matters. I hae a few p'un's laid by for ony case o' emergency; but I would be loath to break in upon that just noo. Ye s'ould wark better and plan better. I dinna want to be hard upon you, but ye maunna forget that ye are na longer a laddie, but a man, and a husband and father forbye. I will help you this ance, but I canna be always ready to meet your obligations at a moment's warning. I hae been casting aboot in my ain mind, for some time, whether it wouldna be better to tak ye a' in wi' me, sin' ye are maistly no prepared on rent days. The hoose is sma'; that is ane thing against it; and I hae sa long lived in quiet that it might be hard at first to become accustomed to the prattle o' the bairns; but if you choose to come, you will be welcome."
This generous offer had cost Wullie no little self-sacrifice. He had lived alone since Robert was married, and he liked that way of living. "He could mak his ain parritch, and help himsel' amazin' weel," as his neighbors said. His wants were few and simple. He went to his labor each morning, and returned in the evening. As he left his house, so he found it; but how would it be if he opened his door to his brother's family? This is what he often thought about, and for this reason he had hesitated to propose the subject to Robert. But it was becoming a serious matter to pay so much for rent, for he almost always had it to pay for both cottages. Besides, hardly a week passed that he did not carry or send something to relieve the necessities of Robert's family. Having made the proposition, he watched to see how it would be received.