"May the Lord bless him for his dutiful regard for his auld faither and mither!" said Jeannie.
They had now reached the cottage. The daughters had spread the table, and as soon as all were rested a little they sat down to their frugal meal. Let us look in at the open cottage-door. As Davie doffs his bonnet we can see that time has not passed him by, although it has dealt him no heavy blows. The crown of his head is bald, and his locks are flecked with the frosts of age. His brow is furrowed, but not deeply.
Beside him sits Jeannie, her silver hair peeping from beneath her cap-border. Her cheerful face wears now a seriousness befitting the Sabbath day. She sits as erect as in her prime, save when grace is said; then all heads are bowed. The sons sit on one side of the table and the daughters on the other. Wullie is not remarkable for good looks, unless we take the adjective in its moral sense; then it certainly would apply to him, for his countenance indicates a good and upright character. Archie's form and features are more pleasing than his brother's. He is naturally cheerful and talkative; but every semblance of mirth is now under proper restraint through respect for the day, and he appears as sedate as though he never cracked a joke or teased his sisters in all his life.
Maggie, tall and well formed, is fair, with bluish gray eyes and wavy brown hair. She is less ruddy than her sister, whose red lips and rosy cheeks would give her the advantage in regard to beauty but for the plainly perceptible national mark—high cheek-bones. Otherwise there is a close resemblance between the two. "It is well there is some difference," Archie had remarked, "or your sweethearts would make funny mistakes sometimes."
Sunday was strictly observed by the Lindsays also; but only one of their children was at home on that day, or indeed on any day; that one was Annie. But the others had not forgotten their early training; and, scattered as they were, and charged with the cares and responsibilities of active life, they had all been in God's house. Alice, happy in her family, and satisfied with the allotments of Providence, is training up her children in the fear and admonition of the Lord. Alexander has finished his course of study, and is following his uncle's profession in the capital.
And where is Jennie MacDuff? She too has been at the old church with her husband to hear his aged father expound the Word of God. So Donald McPherson's pew was filled, although his father and mother had ceased to worship here below, and had joined the general assembly and church of the firstborn in heaven. Donald the third was the staff and stay of his parents, being all that they wished him to be.
Professor James Murdoch, with his wife, his nephew, and his two sons—one a barrister, the other a physician—worshipped in a costly edifice, very unlike the homely stone structure of his early recollections. But not less devout were his feelings, for he remembered all the way the Lord had led him and his kinsfolk, and he bowed in grateful acknowledgment of His goodness.
Across the sea were hearts that longed for a sight of the dear old kirk and of the familiar faces which on that day had turned towards the aged man of God, Rev. John MacDuff. Robin McPherson, Robert Lindsay, and James Murdoch had each joined God's worshippers in the land of their adoption on that Sabbath morning. In the afternoon Robin and James walked out "to meditate in the field at the eventide" and contemplate the goodness of Him who sends seedtime and harvest; and, meeting as if by mutual consent at the fence which separated their little domains, they talked of the day and its observance in Scotland, of their far-away friends, and of a future meeting with them, perhaps in this world; but if not, they hoped to spend with them a never-ending Sabbath.