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About the Author
Dr. Simon Monk (Preston, UK) has a degree in Cybernetics and Computer Science and a
PhD in Software Engineering. Monk spent several years as an academic before he returned
to industry, co-founding the mobile software company Momote Ltd. He has been an active
electronics hobbyist since his early teens and is a full-time writer on hobby electronics and
open-source hardware. Dr. Monk is the author of numerous electronics books, specializing in
open-source hardware platforms, especially Arduino and Raspberry Pi. He is also co-author
with Paul Scherz of Practical Electronics for Inventors, Fourth Edition. You can follow
Simon on Twitter, where he is @simonmonk2.
Hacking Electronics
Learning Electronics with
Arduino® and Raspberry Pi

Second Edition

Simon Monk

New York Chicago San Francisco Lisbon

London Madrid Mexico City Milan New Delhi
San Juan Seoul Singapore Sydney Toronto
Copyright © 2017 by McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act
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To Roger, for making it possible for me to turn a hobby into an occupation.
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 Contents at a Glance
1 Getting Started . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
2 Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
3 Basic Hacks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
4 LEDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
5 Batteries and Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
6 Hacking with Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105
7 Hacking with Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
8 Hacking with Modules. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
9 Hacking with Sensors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
10 Audio Hacks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
11 Mending and Breaking Electronics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
12 Tools. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
A Parts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259

Index .................................................... 265

vii
This page intentionally left blank
 Contents
Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xix
Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xxi

CHAPTER 1 Getting Started . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Getting Stuff . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Buying Components. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Where to Buy Things to Hack . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
A Basic Toolkit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Stripping Wire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Joining Wires Together by Twisting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Joining Wires by Soldering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Safety . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Soldering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Joining Wires . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Testing a Connection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Hacking a Computer Fan to Keep Soldering Fumes Away . . . . . . . . . . . 14
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18

CHAPTER 2 Components. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
A Starter Kit of Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Identifying Electronic Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Resistors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Capacitors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Diodes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22

ix
x Contents

LEDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Transistors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Integrated Circuits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Other Stuff . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Surface Mount Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
What Are Current, Resistance, and Voltage? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Current . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Resistance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Voltage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Ohm’s Law. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
What Is Power? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Reading a Schematic Diagram . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
The First Rule of Schematics: Positive Voltages Are Uppermost . . 29
Second Rule of Schematics: Things Happen Left to Right . . . . . . 29
Names and Values . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Component Symbols . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

CHAPTER 3 Basic Hacks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33

Making a Resistor Get Hot. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
The Experiment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Using Resistors to Divide a Voltage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Converting a Resistance to a Voltage (and Make a Light Meter). . . . . . . 37
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Hacking a Push Light to Make It Light Sensing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
MOSFET Transistors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
PNP and P-Channel Transistors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Common Transistors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Using a Power MOSFET to Control a Motor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Selecting a Switch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Push-Button Switches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Microswitches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Toggle Switches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
 Contents xi

CHAPTER 4 LEDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Preventing an LED from Burning Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Diodes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
LEDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Trying It Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
Selecting the Right LED for the Job . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Brightness and Angle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Multicolor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
IR and UV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
LEDs for Illumination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
Experimenting with RGB LEDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Making a Constant Current Driver . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Powering Large Numbers of LEDs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Making LEDs Flash . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
How to Use Protoboard (LED Flasher) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Using Stripboard (LED Flasher) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Designing the Stripboard Layout . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
Troubleshooting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Laser Diode Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Hacking a Slot Car Racer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Storing Charge in a Capacitor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
Testing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79

CHAPTER 5 Batteries and Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81

Selecting the Right Battery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Battery Capacity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Maximum Discharge Rate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Single-Use Batteries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Rechargeable Batteries. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
xii Contents

Charging Batteries (in General) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86

C. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Over-Charging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Over-Discharging. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Battery Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Charging a NiMH Battery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Simple Charging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Fast Charging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Charging a Sealed Lead–Acid Battery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Charging with a Variable Power Supply . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Charging a LiPo Battery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
Hacking a Cell Phone Battery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Controlling the Voltage from a Battery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Boosting Voltage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Calculating How Long a Battery Will Last . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
Battery Backup . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Diodes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Trickle Charging . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99
Using Solar Cells . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
Testing a Solar Panel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
Trickle Charging with a Solar Panel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Minimizing Power Consumption . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103

CHAPTER 6 Hacking with Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105

Blinking an LED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
Setting Up Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
Modifying the Blink Sketch. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
Controlling a Relay Using an Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Relays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Arduino Outputs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
Hacking a Toy for Arduino Control . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
The Serial Monitor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
 Contents xiii

Measuring Voltage with an Arduino. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120

You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Controlling an LED with an Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Software (Flashing) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Software (Brightness) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
Playing a Sound with an Arduino. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Using Arduino Shields . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Controlling a Relay from a Web Page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
Switching with an Arduino and Transistor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Using an Alphanumeric LCD Shield with Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Controlling a Servo Motor with an Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
Typing Passwords Automatically . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145

CHAPTER 7 Hacking with Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147

Setting Up a Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Preparation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Fetching the Example Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Connecting to Your Pi from a Second Computer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Blinking an LED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
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xiv Contents

Controlling a Relay with Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156

Controlling a Relay from a Web Page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160

CHAPTER 8 Hacking with Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

Detecting Movement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
You Will Need (PIR and LED) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
You Will Need (PIR and Arduino) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164
PIR and Raspberry Pi. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Using Ultrasonic Rangefinder Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
The HC-SR04 Rangefinder . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
Using a Wireless Remote Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Using a Wireless Remote Module with Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Using a Motor Control Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
Breadboard. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
Using the Control Pins . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178
Making a Robot Rover with Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
Using a Seven-Segment Display with Arduino . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
Using a Seven-Segment Display with Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Using RFID Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
 Contents xv

CHAPTER 9 Hacking with Sensors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195

Measuring Temperature with an Arduino. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
Threshold Sensing with Raspberry Pi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199
Switching with a Sensor and Comparator Chip . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202
Using a Digital Temperature Sensor. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Arduino Egg and Spoon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
Measuring Something’s Color . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215

CHAPTER 10 Audio Hacks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217

Hacking Audio Leads . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
General Principals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
Soldering Audio Connectors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
Converting a Stereo Signal to Mono . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
Using a Microphone Module . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
Making an FM Bug . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Testing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
Selecting Loudspeakers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
Making a 1-Watt Audio Amplifier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230
Testing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
Generating Tones with a 555 Timer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
xvi Contents

Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Making a USB Music Controller . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
You Will Need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Construction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Software . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236

CHAPTER 11 Mending and Breaking Electronics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237

Avoiding Electrocution. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
Taking Something Apart AND Putting It Back Together Again . . . . . . . 238
Checking a Fuse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Testing a Battery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Testing a Heating Element . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
Finding and Replacing Failed Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
Testing Components. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
Desoldering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243
Replacement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
Scavenging Useful Components. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244
Reusing a Cell Phone Power Adapter. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 246

CHAPTER 12 Tools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247

Using a Multimeter (General) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
Continuity and Diode Test . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
Resistance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Capacitance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Temperature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
AC Voltage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
DC Voltage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
DC Current. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
AC Current. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Frequency. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Using a Multimeter to Test a Transistor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Using a Lab Power Supply. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253
Introducing the Oscilloscope . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
Software Tools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
Simulation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
Fritzing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
EAGLE PCB . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
Online Calculators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
 Contents xvii

Appendix Parts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259

Kits to Accompany This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
Tools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Component Starter Kits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Resistors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Capacitors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Semiconductors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262
Hardware and Miscellaneous. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 264

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
This page intentionally left blank
 Acknowledgments
Many thanks to all those at McGraw-Hill Education who have done such a great job in producing
this book. In particular, thanks to my editor Michael McCabe, Donna Martone, Lynn Messina,
Patricia Wallenburg, and Claire Splan.
And last but not least, thanks once again to Linda, for her patience and generosity in giving
me space to do this.

xix
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content Scribd suggests to you:
 CHAPTER XXIII
Later that day two men might have been seen galloping their
horses at full speed toward the little house on the hillside. They were
determined, resolute looking men, evidently bent on serious
purpose. Finally they reached the gate, and dismounting made their
way to the door, the elder man insisting loudly upon accompanying
the other, much to his visible annoyance.
“There is no need for secrecy, Gilbert Burns,” said he grimly, and
he followed him into the house and to the room where Robert sat
with pencil in hand vainly courting his Muse. Jean, who was busily
engaged in sewing, jumped to her feet with a little cry of
amazement upon seeing her father before her. Robert held out his
hand to his brother in delighted surprise, mixed with anxiety.
“Brother!” he cried, “what brings ye to Ellisland in such haste? Is it
bad news? Mother, our sisters, are they ill?”
“Nay,” replied Gilbert constrainedly. “They are all well, Rob, and
have sent their love to yourself and family.”
“Thank God for that,” responded Robert thankfully. There was a
little embarrassed silence, then Gilbert spoke again.
“Robert, we—we are in sore trouble,” he confessed, his face
anxious and troubled.
“Trouble!” echoed Rob blankly. “What is wrong, brother?”
“I cannot hold Mossgiel any longer,” he replied, dejectedly. “The
farm is but a wretched lease, as ye know, an’ I canna’ weather out
the remaining year. Without assistance, Robert, I canna’ hope to
hold our little family together any longer.”
Robert’s heart sank within him as he heard the direful news. He
glanced at Squire Armour apprehensively. “And Squire Armour?” he
interrogated with an angry glance at that gentleman, who stood with
a sneering smile on his harsh face, taking in the evidences of
poverty that surrounded them. And with never a word of love or pity,
nor of greeting to his daughter who sat there with white face and
longing eyes, waiting to hear some news from her stern, implacable
father, of her loving mother at home.
“I have bought the lease of Mossgiel,” he growled, “an’ if your
brother canna’ pay up the back rent, which is long past due, I shall
seize everything and turn the whole lot of them out, every one.”
Robert looked at him a moment in scornful silence. Presently he
spoke, and the cutting sarcasm of his voice caused the old Squire to
wince and drop his eyes.
“Ye are a most just, square, God-fearin’ man, Squire Armour,” he
said. “The Kirk should be proud of ye.” Turning to Gilbert, he asked
him the amount of his debt.
“Only a matter of £4, brother,” he replied, “but ’tis a fortune to me
at present.”
“An’ I must have the money to-day or the farm, I care not which.”
“Oh, father!” cried Jean, going to him, “do not be hard on him; he
will pay you; only give him time.”
“Jean!” flashed Robert angrily, “dinna’ stoop to ask mercy of that
mon, even though he be your own father.” Jean turned away with a
sigh.
Squire Armour laughed derisively. “Ye’ll both be on your knees
before long, I’ll warrant,” he cried harshly, “asking favors of me,
especially when ye have naught to feed a starving family. Ye have
made yoursel’ a fine, comfortable bed, my lassie, havena’ ye?” He
sneered sarcastically, turning to his shrinking daughter. “But ’tis
made, and ye can lie on it, ye ungrateful minx.”
Robert rose quickly to his feet, his eyes flashing dangerously.
“Stop! Squire Armour!” he commanded. “Dinna’ dare to use such
language to my wife in my own house, or weak, sick, and crippled as
I am, I will throw ye into the road like the cur that ye are.” He
stopped, breathless with indignation. Presently he resumed with
immeasurable scorn in his vibrating voice, “An’ they call such men as
ye Christians! A sneaking, crawling, psalm-singing, canting
hypocrite! Faugh! Were I the Lord, I would sicken at sight of ye.” He
turned away and sat down beside his now weeping wife, and there
was pity and compassion in the look he bestowed upon her.
“I’ve had enough of your blasphemy, Robert Burns. If ye canna’
pay the rent for your brother, my business is elsewhere.”
“I had no one else to turn to in this, my hour of trouble,”
murmured Gilbert brokenly. “If ye can help me without
impoverishing yoursel’, for God’s sake do it, or I shudder to think
what will become of the dear ones at home.”
Robert was silent. He thought with anxious loving concern of his
own little flock, of the slender resources at his command, of the
gravity of his own situation, sick as he was and with such gloomy
prospects staring him in the face—and yet was he not better off
after all than they at Mossgiel? Had he not his salary, small as it was,
and the promise of the supervisorship, besides the money that
Thompson would pay him for his poem? He had much to thank God
for, he thought gratefully.
“I see ’tis no use delaying longer,” said Armour, looking at the
serious, downcast faces before him. “I have given ye fair warning,
Gilbert Burns, an’ noo I’ll go.”
He had reached the door, when Robert spoke quietly but firmly.
“Wait!” he called. “Ye shall have the money, ye Shylock.”
“Thank God!” cried Gilbert with a loving glance at his brother’s
calm face.
Jean looked at him in speechless amazement. What did he mean?
How could he help others when they were in such dire need
themselves? she asked herself apprehensively.
“Robert,” she whispered anxiously, “ye dinna’ ken what ye say.”
 “My brother will meet ye at sundown, at the Inn,” continued
Robert without heeding her warning, although his face took on a
whiter hue. “He will bring ye every farthing of what is due ye. Noo
go; there is the door; your business here is ended. Ye have brought
naught but misery and trouble into my life by your unreasonable
hatred o’ me, but the time will come, Squire Armour, when all the
unhappiness and suffering ye have caused me and mine will rise up
before ye like a hideous phantom, robbin’ ye of all peace o’ mind on
earth, and your hopes of salvation hereafter.” He drew nearer the
gaping man, who was regarding him with angry, sullen eyes, and
continued with a bitter, unforgiving intensity that filled his listeners
with awe and horror, “An’ when ye feel the chill icy hand of grim
death clutching at your heart, ye’ll cry out for the sympathy and love
of those whom ye cast out of your life, but ye’ll cry in vain, an’ ye’ll
die as ye have lived, a miserable wretched ending to a miserable
selfish life.”
As he finished his grim prophecy, Squire Armour gave a cry of
nervous fear, and with blanched face and wild eyes he strove to
speak, but the words would not pass his white, trembling lips. Finally
he gasped in a frightened whisper which gradually rose to angry
defiance:
“How dare ye! How dare ye say such things to me, Robert Burns?
I willna’ die like that and ye canna’ frighten me with your grim
forebodings.” He paused and glanced at them all in turn, then hastily
opened the door. Just as he was stepping out, he turned slowly and
looked at the white, patient face of his daughter. For a moment he
regarded her in silence, then with a visible effort he addressed her.
“Jean,” he said, and his voice was noticeably softer, “ye are
welcome to come back to your home.” He cast a quick look at the
lowering face of his son-in-law and added vindictively—“alone.”
“Nay, never alone, father,” replied Jean sadly, looking at her
husband’s frowning face.
 The old man turned with sudden fury upon them. “I’ll wait till
sundown for my money,” he shouted, “but not a minute longer!” and
he closed the door behind him with a vicious slam.
Gilbert was first to break the depressing silence that ensued. He
felt vaguely that all was not so well with his brother as he had been
led to believe.
“Forgive me, brother,” he murmured contritely, “for bringing this
trouble on ye.”
“Never mind, Gilbert; it was to be, I ken,” answered Rob absently.
Gilbert was silent a moment. “But the money, Robert, is it—are ye
——” he stammered, then stopped in embarrassed confusion.
“’Tis the sum I expect from the sale of a poem. Jean, see if there
is aught of the Posty.” She rose and went to the window and peered
anxiously down the dusty road.
“I didna’ have the ready money with me,” went on Robert lightly,
as if it were a matter of small importance, “or I would have fixed it
up at once. But ye shall hae the money, laddie, when my letter
comes,” and he smiled reassuringly into Gilbert’s anxious face.
“God bless ye, Robert; ye have taken a great load off my heart.”
Jean returned to her seat by the hearth, and listlessly took up her
needlework. “I fear Posty has forgotten us to-day,” she said in
answer to Robert’s questioning look.
 “‘I’ll wait till sundown for my money,’ he shouted.”

A great fear seized his heart. For nearly a week he had hopefully
awaited some word from Thompson. What could be the matter? “O
God!” he prayed silently, “let him not fail me noo.” With a bright
smile that sadly belied his anxious heart, he rose and, taking
Gilbert’s arm, said gayly, “Come, brother, and see the new bairn that
has been added to the flock this last year.”
As they left the room Jean dropped her work in her lap and gazed
after them with eyes filled with helpless tears of anxiety, at the
thought of the hardships and suffering that lay in wait for them all.
After admiring the baby in the trundle bed the two brothers talked
of the dear ones in Mossgiel, and the many changes time had
wrought in the lives of them all; spoke with tenderness of the sister
who had recently been married—and dwelt with anxious concern on
the struggles of their younger brother, who had left home to branch
out for himself. For a time they forgot their own troubles, and Robert
plied his brother with many questions concerning the welfare of all
his old friends and neighbors, while Gilbert told him all the gossip of
the village, of the prosperity of some of the lads, and the
unfortunate situations of many of the others, thus leading up to the
recital of their own troubles since Robert had left his home. He
listened sorrowfully to the tale of hardship and unceasing toil which
brought such little recompense, but not by word or look did he
betray his own blighted hopes and gloomy prospects. Finally they
had exhausted every subject save one, and that one had been
uppermost in the minds of both, but each had avoided the subject
with a shrinking dread.
No news of the little dairymaid had come to Robert for almost a
year, and the thought that possibly she was ill or dead—or—and a
hundred conjectures racked his brain and froze the eager questions
that trembled on his lips. Gilbert must have read the longing in his
brother’s heart, for, after a troubled glance at the dark yearning face
gazing at him so beseechingly, he looked down at his toil-worn
hands and awkwardly shifted one knee over the other. Presently he
spoke.
“Mary is still at Colonel Montgomery’s,” he observed, making an
effort to speak lightly.
 “I heard she had left Mrs. Dunlop’s,” replied Robert feverishly,
moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue.
“Aye,” sighed Gilbert. “She grew tired o’ the city and longed for the
stillness, the restfulness of country life once more, so she came back
to us and took her old place in the dairy. Poor lass,” and he looked
thoughtfully out of the window and sadly watched the glorious
sunset tinting the distant hills in a blaze of golden light.
“An’—an’ is she well—is she happy?” murmured Robert in a soft,
hushed voice. Gilbert did not answer for a moment. Presently he
roused himself and slowly let his gaze wander back till it rested on
his brother’s wistful face.
“Can ye bear a shock, brother?” he asked quietly.
Robert suddenly stiffened and his eyes grew wide and staring. He
gripped the sides of the chair as a wave of sudden dizziness dulled
his understanding. Presently it passed away, and like one in a dream
he whispered hoarsely, “Tell me the worst, Gilbert; is—is she dead?”
He closed his eyes and waited with breathless stillness for the
answer.
“Thank God, not that!” replied Gilbert feelingly. Robert breathed a
sigh of relief. “But she is very ill, an’ I ken she hasna’ long on earth
noo. The doctors say there is no hope for her,” and he bit his lips to
keep back the rising tears.
Slowly, sorrowfully, Robert’s head drooped till it rested on his
bosom. For a moment he sat like one on the verge of dissolution.
“Oh, God!” he moaned bitterly, “that sweet young life crushed out
in all its innocent purity, like a delicate flower, and through my sin,
my reckless folly. Oh, how can I live and bear my punishment!” A
convulsive sob racked his weakened frame. Gilbert bent over him
with tears in his eyes, forgetting his own crushing sorrow in
witnessing that of his brother.
“Dinna’ greet so, Robert,” he cried. “’Twas not your fault, ye ken.
It was to be.” His philosophical belief in fate helped him over many a
hard and stony path, and enabled him to meet with calmness and
fortitude the many heartaches and disappointments which befell
him.
Soon the convulsive shudders ceased, and leaning wearily back in
his chair, Robert fixed his great mournful eyes upon his brother in
sorrowful resignation.
“How did she look when ye last saw her, Gilbert?” he asked faintly,
pressing his hand tightly to his heart, for the old pain had come back
with exhausting results.
“Like an angel, lad,” replied Gilbert tenderly. “So sweet and pure,
so patient and forgiving.”
“Does she suffer much?”
“Nay,” he answered reassuringly. Then he continued, his voice soft
and low, his strong features quivering from the restraint he put upon
his feelings, “Her life is just slowly slipping away from her; day by
day she grows weaker and weaker, but ne’er a complaint is on her
lips. She is always so cheerful an’ smilin’ that it fair makes ye weep
to see her fadin’ awa’ so fast,” and his voice broke into a hard sob.
“Oh, Mary, my Highland Mary!” murmured Robert brokenly.
“Her last wish is to see the Highlands, to—to die there,” continued
Gilbert, his lips contracting with a sudden, sharp pain at the thought.
“So before she grows any weaker, Mrs. Dunlop, who has come from
town to see her, and who is wi’ her noo, is goin’ to take her back to
her old home in Argyleshire.”
“Going home to die!” repeated Robert dreamily. “Oh, if I might be
taken awa’ too, if my end would only hasten,” he muttered
despairingly, with the weak selfishness of the sick and sorrowing.
“Then might our departing souls be united as one, to be together for
all eternity.”
“Hush, Robert!” cautioned Gilbert, looking fearfully at the closed
door. “Remember Jean and the bairns.”
 “Gilbert, I must see her before she goes!” he cried utterly
distracted. “’Tis for the last time on earth, ye ken, lad,” and he
jumped up, trembling with eager excitement.
“Brother, would ye kill yoursel’?” cried Gilbert, seeking to restrain
him. “’Tis madness for ye to go out in your weak condition.”
“Dinna’ stop me, Gilbert!” he panted, and he flung open the door
and rushed excitedly into the room where Jean sat in patient
meditation. “Jean, get my bonnet and coat, quick, quick!” he
commanded with his old-time vehemence. She jumped up pale and
frightened and looked questioningly at Gilbert. Quickly he told her of
Mary’s illness and Robert’s determination to go to her at once. When
he had finished she went to her husband, the tears of ready
sympathy in her eyes, for she was not jealous of his love for Mary.
She had gotten over that long ago, and laying her hand gently on his
arm, she tried to coax him to sit down and listen to them.
“They’ll have to pass by here on their way to Greenock,” she told
him tenderly. “And ye may be sure, Robert, that Mary will not leave
Ayrshire without saying good-by to you.” And so she reasoned with
him, while Gilbert joined her in assurances of Mrs. Dunlop’s intention
of stopping to see him as she passed the farm. Gradually the wild
light in his eyes died down, the tense figure relaxed, and with a sigh
of exhaustion he allowed himself to be taken back to his room.
“Ye’re sure she’ll not forget to stop here?” he asked with pathetic
eagerness. Then he continued with wistful retrospection, “Two years
have come and gone and not a word have we spoken to each other
since that day we parted in Edinburgh! Oh, cruel, cruel fate!” He
spoke so low that none heard him.
“Noo, Robert,” said Jean brightly, “you must take your gruel, ’twill
give ye strength.” But he made a gesture of repulsion.
“Nay, Jean, I canna’ eat noo; ’twould choke me. I think I’ll lay me
down to rest.” They soon prepared him for bed. Without a word, he
turned his face to the wall and for the rest of the night he lay there
with wide, staring, sleepless eyes, thinking, thinking, thinking.
 CHAPTER XXIV
News of Robert’s illness soon reached Edinburgh, along with
reports of his misconduct, profligacy, and intemperance, reports
which were grossly exaggerated, together with many other
slanderous falsehoods.
And rumors of his poverty and the destitute condition of his family
brought sorrow and anxiety to the hearts of many of his loyal
friends, who were only too ready and willing to offer him all the help
and assistance that would be needed, but they knew, too, his
inflexible pride and independence, and realized how futile would be
their offers of friendly assistance.
For some days Lady Nancy Gordon had been anxiously puzzling
her brain for some thought or scheme whereby she could help the
unfortunate Bard who was plunged in such depths of poverty and
misfortune. She was thinking of him now as she sat at the
harpsichord, her fingers wandering idly over the keyboard in a
running accompaniment to her thoughts. Her father softly entered
the room at this juncture, but she did not turn her head nor intimate
that she was aware of his presence. Presently her touch grew more
and more tender. Anon she glided into one of those dreamily joyous,
yet sorrowful, mazurkas, that remind one of gay wild flowers
growing in rich profusion over silent and forgotten graves. Lady
Nancy had reason to boast of herself, for she was a perfect mistress
of the instrument—and as her fingers closed on the final chord, she
wheeled round abruptly on the chair, and rising to her feet greeted
her father with a tender smile. For a moment she regarded him in
thoughtful silence, then as he laid down his paper, she walked up to
him, a frown of displeasure wrinkling her smooth, white forehead.
“I think, father,” she said deliberately, with a haughty uptilt of her
pretty nose, “I think it is perfectly disgraceful the way that hackney
scribbler who writes for yon journal,” indicating the paper on the
table, “either through malice or ignorance affixes such degrading
epithets to the name of the Bard of Scotland, for by no other name
will I ever speak of Robert Burns,” and she flashed an angry glance
at the offending paper.
“Poor obstinate lad,” sighed the Duke thoughtfully. His mind went
back to the day after the garden party at Glencairn Hall, when he
had sent for Robert to honor them with his presence at Gordon
House, and how the poet had taken offense at some thoughtless
remark of his, given in kindly spirit; how with haughty pride, and
wounded dignity, he had gotten up from the table and after thanking
them for their hospitality, declared he had not come to be insultingly
patronized and pitied, and refusing to listen to reason, or
explanation, he had left in bitter resentment and blind
misunderstanding. Lady Nancy too was thinking the same thoughts,
and after a moment’s meditation she looked into her father’s kindly
face and remarked earnestly:
“Father, something must be done for him and his family at once.”
“But, my dear,” he meekly replied, “our hands are tied by his own
obstinacy.”
“Can we not get up a subscription for him?” she asked. He shook
his head slowly.
“’Twould be to no purpose, Nancy,” he returned thoughtfully. “He
would refuse all offers of pecuniary aid. I know well his independent
principles, and so do you.”
They talked over many plans and projects, but none seemed
feasible, and they were about to give up in despair, when Henry
Mackenzie was announced. He had just arrived from Ellisland, and
immediately spoke of his visit to the poet, and under what painful
conditions he had found him—told them of his promise to Burns to
secure the office of supervisor for him, and had called to consult
with his lordship concerning its bestowal.
Nancy listened with bated breath and tear-dimmed eyes as he
spoke of the change in Robert, his poverty, his indomitable courage
and independence, in spite of the ravages of disease and the black,
gloomy outlook for future prosperity.
“Nancy and I were just discussing some means of alleviating his
distress as you entered,” said the Duke as Mr. Mackenzie finished his
recital. “And it affords me much gratification to be able to assist him
to the office of supervisor of the excise and its attendant increase of
salary.”
“’Twill be a God-send to him, believe me, my lord,” returned Mr.
Mackenzie feelingly.
“The news will be dispatched to him at once!” cried Nancy with
sparkling eyes. “’Twill relieve his present distress of mind.”
With that assurance, Mr. Mackenzie rose, and thanking them for
their kindness in behalf of the indigent poet, took his leave.
Having finished luncheon, the old Duke excused himself, and
going to his study, he made out the necessary papers of promotion
for the struggling exciseman, with many a shake of his head and
pitying sigh for the young genius who was reduced to such straits—
driven to such a commonplace calling, through his headstrong
recklessness, his foolish ideas of independence. Having signed them
he sat back in thoughtful meditation. Suddenly the door opened, and
his daughter asked permission to enter. Having gained it, she
crossed to her father, and sinking down beside him, in an eager,
impetuous manner quickly laid before him a project which had been
formulating in her active brain while he was busy writing out the
papers.
He started back in amazement. “What!” he cried. “Are you out of
your senses, Nancy?”
“Now, papa, listen!” she exclaimed earnestly. “’Twill take but a
day’s ride to reach Dumfries, and think how delighted he will be to
receive the promotion from your hands,” and she slyly noted the
effect of the bit of delicate flattery.
 He frowned and pursed his lips for a moment, and idly tapped the
folded papers against his knee in thought. These signs boded
success, as Nancy well knew, and springing to her feet she gave him
a big hug that set him gasping.
“Look here, Mistress Nancy!” he exclaimed as soon as he
recovered his breath, “why do you want to take this wearisome
journey at this season of the year, just to visit the home of this poor
exciseman?” and he wonderingly regarded the face that had
suddenly grown flushed and pensive, as she looked with worshipful
eyes at the large engraving over the fireplace, which contained the
figure of Burns in a characteristic attitude, reading one of his poems
to the group of people that surrounded him.
“I want to see him once more before the fire of his genius grows
cold,” she answered dreamily. “I want to see him in his home with
his—his wife and children around him.” She might have told him that
she was heart-hungry for a sight of that dark, glowing face, the
flashing black eyes that had thrilled her with such blissful pain, for
the sound of that rich, majestic voice, that had so often stirred the
uttermost depths of her heart. She felt that the yearning of her soul
would not be satisfied till she had seen him again, spoken with him.
She hoped, yet dreaded, that the sight of his changed face, his
miserable surroundings, the commonplaceness of it all, of meeting
the exciseman with his wife and children around him, rather than the
idealized poet, would silence forever the strange unrest of her soul,
banish all thoughts of sentiment from her mind, and destroy the
spell of glamour which he had all unconsciously thrown about her.
These thoughts flew through her mind with lightning speed while
her father was making up his mind how best to dissuade her from
her purpose.
“I fear me, Nancy, ’twill give us both more pain than pleasure,” he
said finally. “We may even lose our respect for him.”
“Don’t say that, father!” she cried reproachfully. “No matter how
low he may have fallen, and I protest that fame has exaggerated his
misconduct woefully, we people of Scotland cannot forget nor
overlook the priceless treasure he has put into our thankless hands,
a treasure that will be handed down to posterity with ever increasing
regard, admiration and love for its author,” and her flashing blue
eyes, that had so often reminded Robert of Mary Campbell, and
which had formed a closer tie of comradeship between them, again
sought and lingered upon the engraved likeness of her hero. The
singular beauty of Lady Nancy Gordon was illumined by that happy
expression of countenance which results from the union of cultivated
tastes and superior understanding with the finest affections of mind,
and the influence of such attractions had been keenly felt by the
ardent poet, who was not altogether unaware of the impression he
had made upon her heart, which was as susceptible to the charms of
wit and intellect as was his own. As she stood gazing up at the
picture, she thought with an odd little smile how she had openly
sought for his favors, delighted in his apparent preference for her
society even while she told herself she knew he was only attracted
by her brilliancy—that she appealed to his intellect—charmed him by
her wit, her cleverness. No, she had never touched his heart, she
thought with a sigh, and a look of sadness came into her thoughtful
eyes.
“I fear, Nancy, that Robert still harbors feelings of resentment
against us,” protested the Duke after a pause. “I know he would
rather not see us.”
But Lady Nancy overruled his objection. “Then all the more reason
for our assuring him of our friendship and asking his forgiveness for
any offense we have unintentionally offered him.”
Seeing all arguments were useless, the old Duke finally consented,
and with a hug and a kiss, Nancy left him and proceeded to make
arrangements for their speedy departure for Ayrshire.

CHAPTER XXV
 The next morning dawned bleak and dismal. A damp, penetrating
mist hung over the farm like a pall, and the chill of the rain-laden air
penetrated into the rooms and made itself felt even by the side of
the brightest fires. It affected the inmates of Ellisland farm to an
alarming extent. They sat gloomily around the hearth idly watching
the smoldering peat fire, which failed to send out much warmth—as
if it, too, felt the depressing influences which surrounded the little
household and which had plunged them all into such a slough of
despond.
Robert had partaken of his bowl of porridge and now lay upon his
bed, grateful for the added warmth of the woolen blankets which
Jean had thrown over him with thoughtful solicitude. He appeared to
the anxious watchers to be more like himself than he had been for
some days, in spite of his restless, sleepless nights, as he lay there
peacefully enjoying the antics of the children who were playing
gleefully but quietly around the room their favorite game of “Blind
man’s holiday.”
At sundown the night before Gilbert had hastened to the Inn to
meet Squire Armour and to plead for another day’s grace, but the
implacable old man refused to listen to him when he found he had
failed to bring the money, and stormily took his departure with
threats of instant eviction, leaving Gilbert in a state of utter
distraction. He watched the Squire ride furiously away in the
direction of Mossgiel with a heavy, sinking fear at his heart, then
slowly made his way, with pale face and clenched hands, back to his
brother’s cottage, where he wrestled with the fears that assailed him
in despairing silence. Several times during the night he was on the
verge of saddling his horse and dashing home, but the hope that the
morning would bring the long-expected letter to Robert checked the
impulse, and so he sat the long night through anxiously waiting for
the dawn, praying fervently that he might not be too late to save his
dear ones from the vindictive anger, the unyielding resolution of their
irate landlord.
 And now morning was here at last. Robert had fallen into a
profound slumber of nervous exhaustion. Jean tucked him in
carefully with the warm blankets, and taking the children with her,
quietly closed the door upon the sleeping man with a prayer of
thankfulness for his temporary respite from the troubles that surged
about his head.
When her duties were over and the children playing on the green,
Jean took her sewing and joined Gilbert in the living room. He was
walking restlessly up and down, with nervous, flashing eyes that
eagerly searched the road, as he passed and repassed the small
window. His restless pacing, his look of hopeful anxiety smote Jean
to the heart, for she had been bitterly resentful, and was still in a
measure, against Gilbert’s selfishness in thinking only of his own
extremity. It didn’t seem right or just that he should be here with
outstretched hands, waiting to take the money that meant so much
to their own struggling family at the present time, and without which
she could only foresee grim want staring them all in the face—and
she had to struggle with the desire that rushed over her to rise up
and tell him of their bitter plight, to bid him go elsewhere for
assistance; but the fear of Robert’s anger kept her silent. Then, too,
she suddenly remembered that they had both kept their poverty and
Robert’s continued ill luck and failures from the home folk, and it
was only to be expected that Gilbert would naturally turn to his
prosperous brother for assistance. “Prosperous, indeed! If he but
knew,” and she sighed deeply, for her mother’s heart felt sore
depressed as she thought of her own loved ones. They did not talk
much. Each was too busy with his own gloomy thoughts.
In fancy, Gilbert could see Squire Armour at Mossgiel Farm,
ordering out his mother and sister, watching them with sinister eyes
as they got together their meager belongings, and then when they,
with streaming eyes, had carried out the last piece of furniture and
stood gazing at the home that was no longer theirs, the cruel
landlord had heartlessly laughed at their sorrow and, locking the
door, had ridden away with the keys in his pocket, leaving them
standing there not knowing whither to go nor where to find food or
shelter.
“O God! Not that! Not that!” he cried aloud, pausing in his walk
with clenched hands, pale and wild-eyed.
Jean looked up from her work in startled alarm. “Gilbert!” she
cried. “What is it?”
With a little mirthless laugh, he told her of the vision he had had,
told of his fears for the safety of his home and the welfare of his
loved ones.
She listened with a feeling of shame at her heart and a flush of
angry humiliation mantling her pale cheek.
“’Fore Heaven, it makes me feel like cursing even the memory of
my father,” she exclaimed bitterly with a flash of her old-time
imperiousness. “But be not alarmed, Gilbert,” she continued with an
encouraging smile. “Your mother is a match even for my father, and
I’ll warrant she’ll not let him set his foot inside the threshold till you
return.” His face brightened.
“I had indeed forgot my mother’s independent, courageous spirit,”
he replied with a sigh of relief and hopefulness.
The depressing gloom thus lifted, they soon drifted into a friendly,
earnest conversation, and the minutes sped by without, however,
the looked-for interruption of the overdue postman.
Outside, the mist had long since been dispersed by the warm rays
of the noonday sun, which was now shining brilliantly. A soft
moisture glittered on every tiny leaf of the wild rose bushes which
clustered beneath the window of the little cot, and on every blade of
grass. The penetrating and delicious odor of sweet violets and blue-
bells scented each puff of wind, and now and then the call of the
meadow lark pierced the air with a subdued far-off shrillness.
Suddenly the peaceful stillness was broken in upon by the sound of
footsteps crunching slowly along the garden path on their way to the
door of the cottage.
 The Duke of Gordon and his daughter had arrived in Dumfries the
night before, and, after a night’s rest, they took the coach to
Ellisland and put up at the little old Inn. There they made inquiries
for the whereabouts of the home of the poet of the little old man
who was boastfully describing the splendors of MacDougall House,
none other than our old friend Souter, once more in his breeches,
having asserted his authority, much to his wife’s secret satisfaction,
for “she did so love a masterful man.” Whereupon Souter
condescendingly offered to conduct them to the place they sought.
And now, as they looked at the poor clay biggin and the evidences
of poverty and neglect which surrounded them on all sides, their
hearts sank within them.
“I suppose we will find Mr. Burns greatly changed?” said Nancy
interrogatively with a little shudder of dread.
“Weel, mum,” replied Souter reflectively, “we all change in time, ye
ken. Some for worse, like mysel’, and some for the better, like
yoursel’, askin’ your pardon for my boldness. And ye ken Robbie’s life
has been very hard these past few years.” He sighed and shook his
head dolefully. “But I want to say right here,” and his heavy
eyebrows drew together in a black scowl, “Robbie Burns’ sickness is
na’ due to his drinkin’, as ye people of Edinburgh believe, and put in
yer penny papers. Robbie is na drunkard. I hae known him from
infancy, and I affirm that he has never been guilty of the gross
enormities he has been charged with. He could always attend to his
duties,” and he looked with aggressive suspicion into the downcast
faces of his listeners for some sign of doubt of his assertion, which,
though stanchly loyal, was not altogether true, as he knew only too
well. “But there is nae use telling all ye know,” he told himself
philosophically. “And what people don’t know about the food they
eat, will no hurt their appetites.”
“I am very glad to hear that,” ejaculated the Duke warmly.
“An’ he is a fond father an’ a maist affectionate husband,”
continued Souter stoutly. “I’ll go in noo and tell him ye’re here,” and
he strode into the house, leaving the couple standing in the path
much to their astonishment.
“It doesn’t seem right, father,” said Lady Nancy sadly, “for such
genius to dwell in that little hut, amid such surroundings. How I pity
him.”
There was a suggestion of tears in the sweet voice which her fond
father noticed with sudden apprehension. He looked at her closely.
“Who is to blame for his being here?” he retorted firmly. She
remained discreetly silent. Then he continued in a softer voice, “But
I mustn’t blame nor censure him, now that he is sick, and down at
the bottom again. It is, indeed, a lasting pity that such genius should
be allowed to smother here in poverty and among questionable
companions, who, ’tis said, seek only to bring him to their level, and
who, alas! are but too surely dragging him there, I fear, a weak,
unresisting, but also a remorseful, repentant victim.”
“And must he stay on here, father, to die a poor exciseman?”
asked Nancy with a strangely beating heart. “Even the added salary
of the Supervisorship cannot be sufficient to keep such a family.” At
that moment Souter opened the door. They turned to him quietly.
“Well, what says Mr. Burns?” asked the Duke impatiently.
A little smile of amusement appeared on Souter’s face. “Mr. Burns
begs you to enter and to be seated,” he replied.
They complied with the injunction and were shown into the living-
room, where they seated themselves.
“I was also to tell ye,” continued Souter dryly, “that he will be with
ye as soon as he can get into his damned rags.”
“What!” exclaimed the Duke laughingly.
“Excuse me, your ladyship,” answered Souter with a little nod to
Lady Nancy, “but them’s his own words and I’m no the one to
change the language o’ a Scottish poet.”
“Has he only rags to wear?” asked Lady Nancy pitifully.
 “Hush!” cautioned her father, “he is here.”
The door opened and Robert slowly entered the room. He had
thrown his wide plaid around his shoulders, over his loose white
shirt, and held it together with one hand that gleamed very white
and thin against the bright colors. His black hair, now faintly
streaked with gray and which had thinned considerably above his
forehead, hung loosely about his neck, framing his gaunt face, and
accentuating his pallor.
For a moment they gazed upon the wreck of the once stalwart and
ruggedly healthy youth, too shocked to utter a word. Robert was the
first to break the silence.
“My lord,” he exclaimed with something of his old brightness, “I
am rejoiced, indeed, to see you at Ellisland. ’Tis a great surprise, but
none the less a welcome one.” He shook the Duke’s outstretched
hand with fervor.
“The pleasure is mutual, my lad,” responded the Duke warmly.
“’Tis a few years now since we parted, and in anger, too.”
“I was in the wrong that night,” broke in Robert penitently, with a
rueful shake of the head. “I sadly misjudged ye there, as I learned
afterward, but my stubborn pride refused to accept the olive branch
ye held out to me. Ye see,” he explained frankly, “’twas my
unreasoning wounded pride and anger, and my disappointment
which blinded me to all sense of right and justice. I realized after
that ye were my friends and that ye resented the damning insult put
upon me at Glencairn Hall.” He paused a moment, a frown of
bitterness wrinkling his brow. Presently he looked up and holding out
his hand again with one of the old magnetic smiles, said, “An’ ye
have forgiven my ingratitude, an’ are come noo to see me! I thank
ye.”
“’Tis all forgot. I forgave you at the time,” responded the Duke
cordially. “I could not hold resentment against you.” He turned to his
daughter, who was partly concealed in the embrasure of the deep
window.
 “Nancy, child, speak to Robert.” She came slowly forward with
hand outstretched, a faint flush dyeing her creamy skin, or perhaps
it was the reflection of the pink satin gown she was wearing beneath
the long velvet cloak, which, becoming unhooked, had slipped down
off her shoulders.
Robert rose to his feet, and his black, gloomy eyes lighted up with
pleasure as they rested upon the dainty vision of loveliness before
him. Lady Nancy had always reminded him of Mary Campbell, and
to-day the resemblance was more striking than ever. For beneath the
large leghorn with its waving, black plumes, her golden hair so like
Mary’s, for the once unpowdered, glittered in all its beauty. Perhaps
my Lady Nancy had remembered the likeness and had purposely
heightened it by forgetting to use the powder which had hitherto
covered the golden curls at all times. As she stood there with a
wistful look upon her face, it was easy to perceive the resemblance
to the timid dairymaid who, in borrowed finery, had created such a
sensation at the Duchess of Athol’s “at home” three years before.
“Lady Nancy, forgive my rudeness in not greeting you sooner,” he
exclaimed fervently.
“I am so glad we are reconciled, friends, once more,” she
exclaimed impulsively. “It did seem as if you would never relent, you
stubborn man,” and she smiled archly into his embarrassed face.
“You find me greatly changed, of course,” he remarked after they
had discoursed a while upon their journey. She remained silent, but
he read the sympathy shining in her blue eyes.
“We read of your illness in town,” explained the Duke, “and believe
me, Robert, we are deeply sorry for your affliction. But I trust the
vigor of your constitution will soon set you on your feet again,” and
he gave him a cheery smile of encouragement.
Robert shook his head gloomily. “My health is, I think, flown from
me forever,” he replied sadly, “altho’ I am beginning to crawl about
the house, and once, indeed, have I been seen outside my cottage
door.”
 “Why didn’t you let us know of your illness before?” exclaimed
Lady Nancy reproachfully. “We are your friends.”
Robert flushed painfully. “My miserable health was brought on and
aggravated solely by my headstrong, thoughtless carelessness, and I
felt so heartily ashamed of myself that I sought to conceal from all
friends my real condition, but ’tis out at last. How long I will be
confined to the house, God alone knows,” and he sighed deeply.
“Do not give yourself up to despondency, my lad,” encouraged the
Duke brightly, “nor speak the language of despair. You must get
well.”
“Indeed I must!” returned Robert grimly, “for I have three strong,
healthy boys and if I am nipt off at the command of fate—gracious
God! what would become of my little flock?” and a look of distraction
swept over his face at the thought.
“Don’t distress yourself needlessly, Robert!” exclaimed the Duke
kindly. Then he continued earnestly, “If anything should happen to
you, if you should be taken off before I am called, I promise that the
children of Robert Burns shall never come to want.”
“’Twould be a lasting disgrace to Scotland,” flashed Lady Nancy
with kindling eyes.
Robert grasped the Duke’s hand impulsively. “God bless ye for
your noble assurance!” he cried. “Ye have lifted a heavy weight of
care and anxiety off my mind.”
“Why, father!” suddenly exclaimed Lady Nancy, “I vow if you are
not forgetting your principal errand here.” He looked at her with a
puzzled frown. “Mr. Burns’ promotion,” she reminded him laughingly.
“Gad zooks!” he exclaimed in amazement, jumping to his feet.
“What an old dolt I am, to be sure.” Hastily diving his hand in the
inside pocket of his elaborate, black-flowered satin square-cut, he
pulled out a long paper with a red seal attached and handed it to the
now bewildered Robert, who, after a quick glance at their smiling
faces, opened the paper and quickly read its contents. Then he gave
a gasp, followed by an ejaculation of delighted surprise and
gratification.
“My lord,” he exclaimed, “this is indeed a gift to bring gladness to
a man’s heart. I thank ye most gratefully for my promotion, and will
endeavor to perform my duties to the best of my poor abilities as
soon as my strength returns.” And the look of anxiety gave way to
one of comparative contentment.
“And your immediate recovery is of the first importance,” returned
the Duke brightly. “You need a change.”
“Why not come to town, where you can have the best of medical
attendance?” asked Lady Nancy quietly, though her heart beat
furiously as she offered the suggestion.
“That is impossible,” replied Robert. “The medical folk tell me that
my last and only chance is bathing and sea air and riding. With my
promotion and the increase of salary it brings, I can now obey their
mandates,” and he held the paper to his breast with a sigh of relief.
“Then the sooner you start, the better,” remarked the Duke kindly.
Lady Nancy rose to her feet with a wan smile on her lips. “And the
sooner we start for Dumfries, father, the better,” she returned.
“You’re right, child, we must hasten,” and he hastily arose and got
his hat and cane together, then he turned once more to Robert. “Mr.
Burns, pardon the suggestion, but is it not time to get out another
volume of your poems?” he asked kindly.
“I have not in my present state of mind much appetite for exertion
in writing,” answered Robert slowly.
“But they could be arranged for you by some literary friend,”
quickly returned the Duke, “and advertised to be published by
subscription.”
Robert raised his head proudly. “Subscription!” he repeated. “No,
no, that savors too much of charity,” and a look of obstinacy came
into his darkened eyes.
 “Remember,” said Lady Nancy gently, “that Pope published his
Iliad by subscription, Mr. Burns.”
He remained silent a moment, then after a little struggle with his
obstinate pride, he answered with a touch of bitterness in his voice,
“I realize that I am in no position to despise any means to add to my
income or to leave my family better provided for after I am gone. I
will take your advice and will at once speak to my dear friend Aiken
about it. He will aid me.”
The door opened and Jean entered the room. She had heard all
the good news, and having met both the Duke and Lady Nancy
while sojourning at Glencairn Castle a few years before, she felt she
ought to thank them for their good offices in Robert’s behalf.
Lady Nancy and the Duke greeted her warmly, asked after the
health of the children, expressed pleasure in seeing her again, and
soon put her at her ease, for the sudden thought of her hasty
marriage to Robert and the attendant slanderous gossip at first
made her feel and appear self-conscious and restrained.
“I was just telling Robert,” said the old Duke, “that he must go at
once to the seashore.” She looked at her husband, and her wistful
expression did not escape the keen eyes of Lady Nancy.
“If he only could go at once,” faltered Jean, “I am sure the water
would effect a cure, but——”
Nancy gave her father a significant look, which clearly said, “They
have no money, father.” At least, so he interpreted it, aided by his
own shrewd guess at the state of affairs.
“By the way, Robert,” he said jocularly, “can you swallow your
pride sufficiently to accept a month’s salary in advance?” He pulled
out a large, well-filled wallet and opened it.
“We do not need it, my lord,” answered Robert firmly and a trifle
coldly. “I am expecting——” Here Jean hurriedly interrupted him,
knowing what he was about to say.
 “Oh, Robert!” she cried contritely, “I forget to tell you that the
Posty left no letter.”
“No letter!” he repeated dully, looking at her with wide-open,
searching eyes. She sadly shook her head.
“Here are £5, lad. Take the note and to-morrow set out for Brow,”
and the Duke held out the note for his acceptance, but he sat with
averted gaze in the proud silence of keen disappointment.
“Do not refuse, Robert,” pleaded Jean softly. “’Tis only a loan.”
Slowly he took the money and folded it between his fingers.
“Thank ye, my lord,” he said quietly. “I will accept it, for I am in sore
need of it at this moment.”
“That’s right, my lad,” he said heartily. “What is a friend for if he
cannot extend or receive a favor?” and he turned to help his
daughter into her cloak.
Quickly Robert pressed the money into Jean’s hand and whispered
to her, “Take it at once to Gilbert and bid him hasten to Mossgiel
before it is too late to save the roof over mother’s head.”
“But, Robert——” she protested, but he would not listen to her.
“Do ye not see ’tis near sundown of the second day?” he told her
impatiently, “and Gilbert will have to ride fast if he would get to
Mossgiel before night overtakes him; noo hasten, Jean.” Still she
lingered, reluctant to go.
“Oh, lad, this money is for you; it means your health, our
happiness. It isn’t right to——”
“We have got a roof over our head, Jean,” he interrupted sternly.
“We maist keep one over my mother and sister as weel. We will nae
starve. There are only £4 due your father. Keep out one for our
present needs. Noo go, lass, go.”
Thus commanded, she hurried to the chamber where Gilbert sat in
despairing solitude, his head held wearily between his hands, and
conveyed to him the glad intelligence. And soon he was speeding
furiously over the dusty road toward home, his face aglow with joy
and eagerness.
When Jean returned to the room she found Souter and Eppy there
gayly chatting with the Duke and Lady Nancy, who were evidently
much surprised to find their old friend Eppy at last married.
“I am so glad to see you here, Lady Nancy,” gushed Eppy
effusively. “You must come and see us before you return to
Edinburgh. I live on the estate adjoining this farm.” He drew the
smiling girl to the window and pointed out the beauties of
MacDougall House. “He is poor,” she whispered, “but he is of noble
birth, a MacDougall of Lorne. Souter!” she called aloud to her
husband, who was looking exceedingly important as he stood
balancing himself on his toes, his hands behind his back, a look of
supreme self-satisfaction on his face, and listening, with an air of
blasé indifference, to the conversation between the old Duke and
Robert. As he heard his name called he leisurely turned his head in
his wife’s direction.
“Souter,” she continued in a tone meant to be careless, but which
expressed plainly her feeling of pride, “isn’t it the Marquis of Lorne
who is your first cousin?”
“What’s that, Souter?” asked Robert incredulously.
Souter looked around him with a sickly smile. He had not thought
to be cornered in this manner, when he had filled his wife’s mind
with stories of past grandeur and noble connections, and it made
him feel decidedly uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“Er—didna’ ye ken that, Robbie?” he exclaimed with a look of
feigned surprise on his reddened face. “Och, yes! By the by, Robbie,”
he continued quickly, anxious to change the subject, “we came o’er
to tell ye that we are gang to Brow on our honeymoon.” Here Eppy
giggled and looked bashfully out of the window. “An’ my wife, Mrs.
MacDougall,” with a flourish of the hand in her direction, which
elicited another giggle from the lady in question, “has decided that
we want ye to gang alang wi’ us.”
 Robert looked at him, then at Eppy in speechless surprise. Jean
gave a little gasp, and her hand sought her husband’s arm and
pressed it with delight.
“Souter,” faltered Robert, “ye’re both doing this out of the kindness
of your hearts, but I canna——”
“We’ll na take no for an answer. Ye may be stubborn wi’ your lofty
independence, your pride, but I can be just as stubborn as ye, Rab
Burns, and I say it is settled,” said Souter.
“’Tis the hand of God,” whispered Jean softly.
“God bless ye both,” faltered Robert, grasping Souter’s hand
affectionately.
“Come, father,” said Lady Nancy, who had witnessed this little
scene with moist eyes, “I protest we must start on our journey.”
“But first we must have a toast,” said Robert brightly. “’Tis most
fitting. Jean, bring the punch bowl.” Quickly she brought from the
closet the bowl of Inverary marble and placed it on the table, and
into it she poured some hot water and sugar. “We have no wine to
offer,” continued Robert, “nothing better than Highland whisky, but
ye needna’ be afraid of becoming intoxicated, my lord,” and he
smiled ruefully, “for I ken ’twill hardly be tolerable to your educated
taste.” Jean had mixed the punch and now passed it around among
the guests. “For auld lang syne!” cried Robert feelingly. “Is not that
phrase most expressive? My lord, a toast,” and he raised his glass to
the old Duke, who, after a moment’s hesitation, proposed “the
health of Robert Burns, Scotland’s greatest Bard.”
“We drink to that with pleasure,” exclaimed Lady Nancy.
“Aye, that we do,” echoed Souter heartily. And while the toast was
being drunk he slyly whispered, “Rob, dinna’ say aught to my wife
about—er—the old Marquis, my—ahem—cousin. Ye understand,” and
he nudged him significantly.
Robert smiled and assured him of his secrecy.
 “And noo,” said Souter proudly, looking at Eppy’s simpering face,
“here’s to the bride.” She made a deep courtesy and quaffed her
glass with conscious dignity at her sudden importance. “May she
always believe in her husband,” he added in an aside to Robert,
much to the latter’s amusement.
“Mrs. MacDougall, here’s to your enemies, your foes,” proposed
Robert.
“What?” she cried, opening her eyes in amazement.
“May they have short shoes an’ corny toes,” he added with a
merry twinkle in his eyes.
“Duke, a toast!” said Souter importantly.
The Duke thought a moment. “Well, I drink to Mrs. MacDougall.
May she soon have a house full of bairns,” he thoughtlessly
proposed.
Eppy gasped and turned crimson, and Lady Nancy bit her lips to
keep back the smile her father’s well-meant but tactless speech
occasioned.
“Do you mean to insult me, my lord?” flashed Eppy indignantly.
“Bless my soul, no,” returned the Duke in astonishment, who could
see no reason for offense in his kindly-meant remark.
“The Duke meant well,” said Souter pacifically to his wife, whose
eyes were flashing angrily. “An’—an’—stranger things might happen,
ye ken,” and he rubbed his chin reflectively with a sly look out of the
corner of his roguish eye at Robert. She tossed her head haughtily.
“’Twould not be so monstrous strange, Mr. MacDougall, as you
seem to think,” she retorted frigidly. Souter opened his eyes in
speechless surprise. He was about to speak, but after one
bewildered glance at the disdainful face of his bride, concluded that
discretion was the better part of valor, and for the rest of that day he
remained in thoughtful silence reflecting on the inconsistencies of
woman kind in particular, and speculating upon the strange and
mysterious workings of human nature in general.
The Duke bade them all adieu and passed out into the garden,
where its wild beauties attracted his eye. He wandered about,
forgetting, in his admiration for the flowers, his daughter, who had
lingered behind for one last farewell word—alone.
“And so, Mr. Burns,” she said thoughtfully, looking after Jean’s
retreating figure, “you have never regretted taking the step that
bound your life to that of Jean Armour’s? Regretted doing your
duty?” There was a note of regret in the vibrating voice.
“Never, my lady,” he replied firmly. “It was the only really good
thing I have ever done in my wretched life.”
She looked at him a moment with hungry eyes. “Do you never
think of the old days in town?” she asked suddenly, and she was
greatly surprised to see his face turn pale, his eyes flash and
deepen.
“For God’s sake, madam, do not mention the past!” he said,
turning away. “All that has passed out of my life forever,” he
murmured after a pause, “never to return.”
“And you wish it so?” she asked faintly. He bowed his head slowly.
She moistened her lips feverishly and drew near to him, her eyes
filled with a light that would have startled him had he seen it. “Say
not so! Must I give up the friendship of the only man I esteem and
hold dear?” she panted breathlessly. “Oh, will you not renew the
broken thread of our correspondence [he had written her several
times since coming to Ellisland, but before Jean’s advent] and enjoy
the sweet intercourse of thought, which will bring such gladness into
my own life, and will brighten the gloom of your own, and will take
naught from your wife’s peace of mind?”
He raised his head and regarded her thoughtfully. “How can ye
ask me that, my lady,” he answered, “when ye declared to me in
your last letter that you meant to preserve my epistles with a view,