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Alexandru Radovici and Ioana Culic

Getting Started with Secure Embedded

Systems
Developing IoT Systems for micro:bit and
Raspberry Pi Pico Using Rust and Tock
Alexandru Radovici
Wyliodrin, Bucharest, Romania

Ioana Culic
Wyliodrin, Bucharest, Romania

ISBN 978-1-4842-7788-1 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-7789-8

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-7789-8

© Alexandru Radovici and Ioana Culic 2022

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is
concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in
any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or
dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the
relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.

The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
This Apress imprint is published by the registered company APress
Media, LLC part of Springer Nature.
The registered company address is: 1 New York Plaza, New York, NY
10004, U.S.A.
Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the
author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book’s
product page, located at www.apress.com/978-1-4842-7788-1. For
more detailed information, please visit
http://www.apress.com/source-code.
Acknowledgments
We would like to thank the Tock Core Team for their support, especially
to Leon Schü rmann (University of Stuttgart) and Branden Ghena
(Northwestern University). Their feedback has been very important
and has helped us greatly improve the book’s contents.
A special thank you goes to our colleagues Ș tefan Dan Ciocîrlan and
Jan Alexandru Vă duva from the University Politehnica of Bucharest for
their suggestions that helped us improve this book.
Thank you all for your support.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Embedded Systems and Architectures
The Eagle Has Landed
The Architecture of a Generic Embedded System
Central Processing Unit
The System Bus
The Memory
Input/​Output Devices
The Storage Space
The Interrupt Controller
The Debug Interface
Microcontrollers​, Computers, and Hybrid Systems
Microcontrollers​
Computers
Hybrids
Embedded Systems Platforms
Summary
Chapter 2:​Embedded Systems Software Development
What About the Software?​
Development Languages
Assembly Language
Structured Programming
A Few Words About Security
C Programming and Safety
Beware of Rust
Bare Metal Embedded
 The Arduino Library
CMSIS
OpenCM3
The Rust Embedded Devices Working Group
Embedded Operating Systems and Frameworks
FreeRTOS
The Zephyr Project
Mbed OS
RIOT
Tock
Summary
Chapter 3:​The Tock System Architecture
Why Tock?​
A Few Words About Operating Systems
The Kernel
The Drivers
The Applications
Services
The Tock System Architecture
User Space
The Tock Kernel
Hardware Drivers
Capsules
Security Facts
The Tock User Space Architecture
Process States
 System Calls
The Process Memory
Tock Application Package
Flashing the System
The Debug Chip
Flashing
Programming
The Safe Way
Summary
Chapter 4:​Rust for Tock
Introduction to Rust
Rust Primary Data Types
Mutability
Who Owns A Value?​
Strings
Borrowing
Slices
Lifetimes
Who Is Responsible for Deallocation?​
Lifetime Elision Rules
Generics and Trait Objects
A Kind of Inheritance
Traits
Generic Structures
Associated Types
Null Values and Error Reporting
 Rust Concepts Used in Tock
Interior Mutability
Global Variables
Buffer Lifetimes
Unwrapping Values
Transforming Values
Summary
Chapter 5:​Getting Started with Tock
Hardware Requirements
About the Tock Repository
The Tock Project Structure
The libtock-c and libtock-rs Repositories
Environment Setup
Environment Setup for Programming the micro:​bit Device
Install the Necessary Tools for the Raspberry Pi Pico
Clone the Tock Kernel Source Code
Clone Tock Additional Libraries
Compile and Deploy the Tock Kernel and Applications
Deploy the Tock Kernel on the micro:​bit
Hello World from micro:​bit!
Deploy the Tock Kernel on the Raspberry Pi Pico
Hello World from Raspberry Pi Pico!
Summary
Chapter 6:​The Structure of a Custom Tock System
Initialize the Kernel Component
Link the Tock Kernel Repository
 Add the Board-Specific Folder
Create the Drivers Folder
Initialize the Userspace Component
Link the libtock-c Repository
Create the Applications Folder
The Rust Toolchain
Build the Project
Build the Kernel
Build an Application
Summary
Chapter 7:​Userspace Applications Development
Hardware Requirements
Userspace Capsule APIs
The Timer Library
The GPIO Library
Application Example
The LED Library
Application Example
The ADC Library
Application Example
The Sensor Libraries
Reading The Temperature
Reading The Motion
Application Example
Human Interaction Libraries
The Console Library
 The Text Screen Library
The Screen Library
The Button Library
Persistent Data Storage Library
Summary
Chapter 8:​Synchronous Syscall Capsules
Hardware Requirements
The Tock Capsule
Why Write A Capsule?​
A Closer Look at The System Call Interface
The Command System Call
The CommandReturn Structure
A Capsule’s Architecture
The API Definition
Writing the Capsule
Defining the Driver
Defining the Font
Connecting the LEDs
Display Digits and Letters
The Syscall API Implementation
Registering the Capsule
The Board Implementation
The KernelResources Trait
Starting The Kernel
The DigitLetterDispl​ay Capsule Registration
Writing the Userspace Library
 The Header File
The Library
Using the Library Inside the Process
Run the Project on the Raspberry Pi Pico
The Hardware Setup
Setting Up the Driver
Using the Driver
Summary
Chapter 9:​Asynchronous Syscall Capsules
Requirements
Extending the API
The command System Call
The subscribe System Call
The allow System Call
Capsule Architecture
Asynchronous Tock Drivers
Writing the Capsule
Defining the Capsule’s Data Structures
Storing the Buffer
Executing the Commands
The Text Display
The Capsule Registration
The Userspace Library Implementation
The Userspace API
The API Implementation
Writing an Example Application
 The Synchronous Application
The Asynchronous Application
Using the Raspberry Pi Pico
Summary
Chapter 10:​Service Capsules
Requirements
The Separation Between Syscall and Service Capsules
The TextScreen Driver
The Architecture of the Capsule
The Text Screen API
The Driver Implementation
Driver Initialization
The TextScreen HIL Implementation
The Text Displaying Process
The Setup Syscall API Implementation
Capsule Registration
Capsule Usage
The Text Screen API
The Setup API
Use the Raspberry Pi Pico
Summary
Chapter 11:​Tock Userspace Drivers
Requirements
The Tock Inter-Process Communication Library
Use IPC to Implement a Userspace Driver
The TextDisplay Service
 The Service API
The Client Process
Summary
Chapter 12:​Tock Systems Management
Running Tockloader
Use tockloader with the micro:​bit
Troubleshooting
Use tockloader with the Raspberry Pi Pico
Flash the Kernel
Device Console
Install/​Remove Applications
Tockloader Install
Tockloader Uninstall
Update an Application
Inspect the Applications
List Applications
Inspect TAB Files
Application Configurations
Enable/​Disable an Application
Sticky Applications
Fault Policies
Write a Custom FaultPolicy
Override the Fault Handler
System Information
Inspecting Processes
System Status
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
the land "that needeth not the sun;" and in the coach, with
strangers around her, Nora prayed as she had never done
before—prayed for the life of her little cousin—prayed a very
earnest prayer for herself, that God would answer her in
these prayers for Christ's sake, and make her truly his child,
even as little Minnie was.

It was midnight of the following day before they reached

Benvourd, to find Mr. Macleod awaiting them, with the
strange, sad light on his countenance that one sometimes
sees on the faces of those who have stood by the death-bed
of dying Christians, whether that of an aged saint or a little
lamb of the Good Shepherd's flock.

"Thank God you have come!" he said, as he folded Nora in

his arms. Hushing as best he could the girl's burst of heart-
felt grief, as he gently whispered the words, "Jesus has
taken our little daughter to his heavenly fold; she was glad
to go, Nora, she loved him so. Hush, my darling—compose
yourself—it is well with her; the loss is ours. You are greatly
needed here, my child."

He had half carried her into the parlour, and laid her down
on the sofa. Quietly he stood by for a few minutes, with
bent head and lowered eyes, letting her give vent to the
tears which come so easily from hearts in their first sorrow,
and which bring such blessed relief.

Mr. Ross stood by much touched; there was something in

the quiet, resigned, though sorely-stricken look on the
father's face that made him wonder.

"Thank you for bringing her," had been the courteous

greeting he had received; but now, in this sacred sorrow, he
felt almost an intruder.
"She must be terribly exhausted," he said, as Nora lay
almost stifled with sobbing; "she has hardly tasted food to-
day."

Her uncle bent over her lovingly. "My Nora," he said, "be
brave; help us to say, 'Thy will be done.' Your poor aunt will
need all your help. There have been two angels here this
evening, darling—one of death and one of life. One hour
after our darling fell asleep in Jesus, God sent us another
little daughter to comfort us."

In a moment Nora was on her feet. "O uncle, take me to

aunt; I will be brave, indeed I will, God helping me," she
added.

And amid all his sorrow, these words sent a thrill of joy
through Mr. Macleod's heart, for hitherto Nora had seemed
to feel that she could do all things in her own strength; but
in the bitter hours of sorrow, and self-reproach, and self-
examination through which she had passed that day, she
had been brought to see her own weakness as never
before.

Very softly she slipped into her aunt's room, and bent for a
moment over the bed.

"Auntie, dear auntie, I've come," she said; but despite her
efforts at self-control, one hot tear fell on the pallid face as
she kissed the soft cheek.

A quiet, feeble voice said, "'The Lord gave, and the Lord
hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord.'"

No more words were allowed to be spoken then; and Nora,

forcing back her blinding tears, turned to look at the babe
who had come as a little messenger of comfort into the
house of mourning.
But Nora would not rest that night till she had taken one
look at Minnie as she lay beautiful in death. A smile seemed
to rest on the little lips, and the golden hair still lay in curls
round the fair face; and as the girl kissed the cold brow, she
fancied she saw it already crowned with the everlasting
crown which is fairer far than any earthly one of gold and
rubies.

CHAPTER X.
A HIGHLAND FIELD-PREACHING.

"We bear you the message, the Lamb's invitation;

The rude world's rude clamour, it floateth above:
Oh join the sweet song, the glad song of salvation,
And rest 'neath His banner, the Banner of Love."

RIGHT down on Minnie's grave in the Highland churchyard

the autumn sunbeams were playing, as Nora, some months
after her hasty return to Benvourd, stood there wondering,
as so many young hearts have done before her, how the
sun could shine and all nature look bright when Minnie was
dead. Yet inwardly the young girl was glad too, with a great,
quiet, solemn joy; for in her heart light and peace had
sprung up, and a sunshine, of which the world knows
nothing, was filling the chambers of her soul. The doubting
and indecision were ended at last; the neutral flag under
which Nora had long tried to fight was put aside; and the
young girl had taken her stand as one of the followers of
the Lord Jesus, and joined the army over which floated the
banner of the King of kings.

The long, sad summer after Minnie's death was merging

into early autumn, and the birches and oak trees in the
lovely pass were beginning to glow in golden and scarlet
hues, when up the glen came the news that a field-
preaching was to take place at a spot not very far from
Benvourd House. The great out-of-door preachings were not
so common in that neighbourhood as in many other parts of
the Highlands; and partly from the novelty of the thing,
partly from the fame of the preacher, the young, noble-
hearted minister, William Burns, Nora desired strongly to
go, and her uncle willingly agreed to accompany her.

Brightly shone the sun that day, and every blade of grass
and remaining tuft of heather sparkled under its rays, as
the party from Benvourd set off to the place of meeting. It
was a good way off; but both Nora and her uncle were
famous pedestrians, and fully enjoyed the walk on that
quiet early Sabbath morn. The impression made on her
heart by Minnie's early death had never worn completely
off; the longing after higher and more satisfying joys than
the world could give was still filling the girl's heart; the soil
was soft, prepared, though she knew it not, by the great
Creator for the ready reception of the words which, by the
lips of his faithful messenger, were to prove that day to
many souls the savour of life.

As the party neared the place of meeting, Nora was

surprised to see so many people coming in all directions
over the moors, where the heather was already turning
brown. Across half-reaped fields of golden corn, down the
steep hill-sides, they came, all looking eager, though with
the calm hush of the Sabbath day about them.
"Uncle, where does all that multitude of people come from?"
said Nora, as she looked in amazement at the crowd, as
they congregated at the river-side, waiting for the ferry-
boat to cross and recross with the many passengers; for the
gathering-place was on the opposite side of the river from
Benvourd.

Her uncle smiled. "You may well ask that, Nora. The greater
number of these people have come from places miles
distant, and some must have walked for hours to get here
so early. God grant that not mere curiosity has brought
them, but a hunger for the bread of life."

Just then the ferry-boat reached the bank of the river where
they stood, and Mr. Macleod and his niece stepped into it,
along with several others.

"You're getting hard Sabbath work to-day, Sandy," said Mr.

Macleod, addressing his old friend the ferryman.

"Ay, ay, sir," was the ready reply, spoken in the Gaelic
language; "but it's blessed work too, for if half that we hear
is true, it's the Lord's own message that will be given to-
day, and na doot many o' Satan's captives will be set free.
The ferry work is one o' necessity and mercy, I'm thinking;
and the Lord'll no' hold us guilty for doin' that kind o' work
on his holy day. Not one penny o' payment will old Sandy
take for this work. Yon's a grand sicht, sir."

And as he spoke he pointed to the hill-side, just above the

spot where the meeting was to be held. Already it was
crowded with people, and the sound of psalm-singing was
wafted to the river—

"O come, let us sing to the Lord:

 Come, let us every one
A joyful noise make to the Rock
Of our salvation."

Young and old, rich and poor were grouped there, the grass
and the heather their carpet, and the blue arched sky their
roof, while a small mountain cascade, as it leaped from rock
to rock over-canopied by the rowan trees, mingled its music
with that of the slight breeze and the chorus of strong
voices. The scarlet cloaks and white caps of some of the
older women, and the checked shepherd's plaids of the
men, all formed a picture that would not soon die out of
memory's eye.

But now the preacher stood in their midst, and with a voice
of power, and eyes that once seen were never to be
forgotten, addressed the crowd.

We will not here write details of that wonderful service, the

words of which burned into the very souls of some of the
hearers, and by the power of the Holy Spirit changed the
lives of many. The subject was the parable of the ten
virgins. Five were wise, and five were foolish. Vividly were
they described; powerfully the utter folly of those who had
lamps, but had no oil in them, was depicted, as having a
name to live, yet Satan-bound, Satan-deluded, Satan-
possessed. Then the contrast was drawn—the peace and joy
of the wise virgins, united to Jesus, and so, with well-filled,
clearly-burning lamps, ready when he calls to go into the
marriage feast with him.

No mere description can rightly convey the power of that

sermon, for every word seemed freighted with the power of
the Holy Ghost convicting and converting. Truly the arrows
of the Lord pierced sharply that day into the hearts of his
enemies, and chain-bound ones groaning under the fetters
of the Evil One were freed, and left the meeting, like the
Ethiopian of old, "going on their way rejoicing."

And what of Nora? Not even the uncle sitting beside her
knew of the conflict in her heart; no spoken words told of
the surrender of heart and life into her Saviour's keeping.
Yet the Lord of glory knew of it.

And when the long-waiting, patient Emmanuel entered into

that young heart by the door which was flung open for his
admittance, and took possession, a new song of praise rang
through the courts of heaven, and angels, amid the many
songs of joy which they sang that day over ransomed souls,
did not leave out a special one for the young orphan girl
who had passed from death unto life under the preaching of
God's own Word at the field-meeting in the lonely Highland
glen.

And when Nora lay down to rest that night, there played on
her lips a smile of God's own peace, and on her brow, it
may be, the angel-host could see the shadow of a crown
more beautiful far than any earthly one of gold and rubies.
And when, ere many days elapsed, Ronald received a letter
from his dearly-beloved sister, telling the glad news of her
new-found peace in Jesus, his lips also gave praise to God
for the answer to many prayers, both of those who were
still on earth and of those who had passed within the veil,
yet whose prayers had been laid upon the golden altar, to
be answered when the great Answerer of prayer saw fit.

And as Ronald read her account of the words which had

pierced her heart, and the description of the preacher of
them, he wondered if it could be the same person who, in
his Master's name, had enlisted him as a recruit in the army
of the Lord of hosts, bound for the great crusade against
Satan. In some things the description agreed, in others not;
and as he never met on earth again the mysterious
stranger, he never knew if indeed it was William Burns who
had spoken to him beside the Wishing-Well.

CHAPTER XI.
HOME LIFE.

"Every day and every hour,

Every gift and every power,
Consecrate to Him alone
Who hath claimed you for His own."

MORE than two years have passed since the death of little
Minnie Macleod. Life at Benvourd has gone quietly on. Little
duties, little cares, and what some would call little
pleasures, made up the daily routine of the lives of most of
the inhabitants of the neighbourhood.

And yet both in nature and the souls of the inmates of the
glen there was growth. Not very visible, perhaps, to an
unobservant eye, still the young trees in the pass were
reaching upwards, and, all unseen, their roots were striking
deeper down, enabling them the better to bear unharmed
the wild winter blasts that from time to time swept over
them. The river also, though almost imperceptibly, was
deepened, the large boulder stones in its channel were
getting more firmly fixed in their places than of yore. And in
the souls of many of the dwellers there, the words of gospel
truth, sown on the September day we have written of, at
the field-meeting, were springing up, "first the blade, then
the ear," one day to ripen into full corn.

And so it was in Nora's soul: from strength to strength she

was going on, ripening gradually in the wisdom which
cometh from above, expanding into a noble Christian
character—a comfort in her home, and amongst the poor
proving a true counsellor and friend.

Snow was on the ground, and a keen, frosty wind was

blowing, when one morning she came into the drawing-
room at Benvourd, equipped for a walk, fur cuffs on her
arms, fur around her neck, and a leather bag in her hand.
Very pretty she looked as she peeped in.

"Any messages, auntie?" she said. "I'm off to see old nurse
and some, of the poor bodies; and I'll look into the school
on my way back, and see how the children are getting on
with their work."

"All right, dear," was the reply; "only, do not get cold. And
take Cherry with you for company."

"How bright and happy Nora looks," Mrs. Macleod remarked

to her husband, as he entered the room shortly after the
young girl had set off on her walk.

"Yes," he said; "and yet I had a letter this morning from

Mrs. Ross, asking if I did not think it was a mistake to keep
Nora moped up here all the winter, when she should be
mixing in society and seeing something of the world. Of
course an invitation to spend the winter with them follows;
and, if you agree with me, I have resolved to let Nora
choose for herself."
"Surely she does not look either dull or moped. But if she
wishes a change, she shall have it."

In the meantime Nora was tripping down the pass with a

glad heart. Never, she thought, had she seen the whole
country more beautiful than it looked that day: the snow-
crowned hills glistening in the sunlight, and the leafless
trees, now sprinkled with snow, glittering like diamonds as
the merry little sunbeams played on them, and the river,
swollen with the melting snow, rolling swiftly along, making
music through the lonely pass. Moping, indeed! The firm
step and bright, sparkling eye of the girl told the falsity of
that supposition.

Warmly was she welcomed by old nurse. Not long had she
been in discovering the change that had taken place in her
darling's heart; and many a time now, as she stroked back
the golden brown locks off the broad brow, she loved to
think that a fairer diadem than that of this world would one
day rest there.

On the morning we write of, a more than usually hearty

welcome greeted Nora.

"Come in, come in, my lambkin; I'm wantin' sore to see ye.
Look ye here; I've had news o' my puir misguided laddie.
He's livin', Miss Nora, sore broke down, they write, in mind
an' body, but ower prood to say a word to his auld grannie,
wha loes him dearly yet, in spite o' a' his faults."

"How got I the news, you ask? Weel, ye see, it's this
Duncan Finlay; ye'll mind o' him?—Jean Finlay's son, doon
the glen. Weel, he's been in furrin pairts, a sailor lad; an' in
the ship comin' hame, wha should he see but Johnny—my
Johnny—workin' his passage hame (for it seems he's been i'
the Indies, puir laddie); and when he saw Duncan, he made
him promise he'd no tell ony o' his folk where he was, or
what he was daein'."

"An' at first Duncan had kind o' agreed to that; but when
they were nearin' England, Johnny fell sick, an' Duncan has
been rale kind to him, got him intil lodgin's, an' tended him
like a brither. But my puir laddie's gettin' nee better; an'
noo Duncan feels he canna' keep silence ony langer, an' so
he wrote to his mither to tell her a' this—And oh, Miss Nora,
he says, for a' Johnny appears hardened-like to his hame,
he thinks his heart turns fondly to his auld grannie still: for
in his sleep, he ca's for me, an' speaks aboot the auld hills
an' the bonny pass, whiles fancyin' he's helpin the gentry to
fish i' the river, or gangin' wi' them as he's dune mony a
time ower the muirs when they're shootin' the grouse. An'
aince, missie, only think Duncan writes—" and as she
spoke, tears ran down the old woman's cheeks—"he thocht
he was in the kirk, an' began singin' oot the words o' the
psalm, 'The Lord's my shepherd, I'll not want.'"

"'Deed, Miss Nora, my heart's fair like to break, when I

think o' my bairn lyin' in yon great city, among strangers
noo; for Duncan has to leave to join his ship again. An'
since it's the Lord's will, I canna get to him, I've been
thinkin', if only you would write to Maister Ronald, he'd seek
him oot and comfort him a bit. See, here's the address I've
gotten frae Duncan."

Nora looked at it. "Oh yes, nurse," she said; "I'll write at
once to Ronald; I know he and my cousin, Mr. Arbuthnot,
often visit among the lodging-houses in London; and Ronald
will be so pleased if he can help poor Johnny in any way.
Keep up your spirits, nurse; perhaps the illness may be
God's way of drawing poor Johnny to himself."
"Ay, ay," was the old woman's reply. "I'm trustin' in him,
missie; the Good Shepherd goes into the wilderness after
his errin' sheep, an' sometimes, even against their will,
carries them home to the fold in his ain lovin' arms. And
ye'll write soon, missie, an' tell me whenever ye hear?"

"That I will," said Nora, rising; "but I must run off now, for I
have one or two sick people to see down the glen, and
auntie told me not to linger too long."

And calling Cherry to come away from the cosy fire, she set
off, having cheered up by her bright looks and loving words
the heart of the old woman.

Through the pass she wound her way, now running a bit
with Cherry, now pausing to look at the river as it danced
along, or to note the little birds as they hopped about from
spray to spray, picking at the bright berries that yet
remained.

Then turning out of the pass, she crossed the highroad, and
entered a small cottage in a field, where dwelt a sick child,
nigh unto death; but at the sight of the bright young face,
she looked up with a smile. Nora produced some little
delicacy out of the leather bag, to tempt the failing
appetite; then seating herself beside the bed, began, at the
child's request, to "sing to her something about heaven."

In the rich, sweet voice with which God had endowed her,
she sang of the land where hunger and thirst, pain and
sickness are felt no more, and where—

"Christ's presence fills each heart with joy,

Tunes every mouth to sing."
And the sweet singing soothed the restless child, and
brought a smile of peace to her lips; and when, with a word
of prayer, the visit ended, and Nora was out again on the
snow-covered earth, the child lay and thought of her bright
young visitor and of the happy land of which she had sung.

One or two more visits of love, and then Nora turned into
the village school, the face of the teacher lighting up as she
entered. She had a kind, merry word for all, praised some
and gently chid others; then sat right down among the
workers, and told them a story over which eyes that were
beginning to look weary sparkled again, and to which the
teacher herself listened as eagerly as the little ones. Then
followed a simple hymn about the "Happy Land," in which
the voices of even the very little ones chimed in sweetly.

And once again Nora was off, having left a good influence
behind her. She had had a happy day and an adventure as
well; for just as she was leaving the pass, who should she
meet but two young girls, nieces of their neighbour, Mrs.
Forbes, who, along with their governess, were going to
Benvourd with an invitation for her to spend a week at
Craiglora, to meet some friends from England who had
arrived unexpectedly.

The girls had come so far in the carriage, and were to walk
through the pass to Benvourd, but had contrived to take a
wrong turn, and being strangers to that part of the country,
were wandering about in great perplexity when they met
Nora and her dog.

"No doubt," said one of them, "if you had not met us, we
would have been benighted, and, perhaps, perished in the
snow!"
Nora had laughed at that idea, but made a good joke about
the travellers who had lost their way in the Highland pass.

They did not return with her to Benvourd, as they had lost
so much time, and were to await the carriage again at a
house not far from the pass.

So Nora returned as she had gone out—alone. She looked

so bright and merry, as in her eager way she related the
day's work, that her uncle and aunt smiled to each other as
they thought of Mrs. Ross's idea that she was "moped" in
her Highland home. All were much interested as she related
that nurse had at last heard of her wandering grandson;
and tears of sympathy filled Mrs. Macleod's eyes when she
told of the dying child who had asked her to sing about
heaven, and her thoughts turned to her little daughter so
early called to glory.

In the evening Mr. Macleod gave Nora Mrs. Ross's letter, and
told her, he and her aunt gave her full liberty to accept the
invitation, if she felt at all inclined to do so.

"We will miss our bright sunbeam," he said, "but only desire
that in this matter you should please yourself."

Nora read the letter, laughing over the idea of her moping.
"Why, uncle, what does she mean? I am as happy as I can
possibly be; and I have so many things to interest me, and
people to love, I could not manage to be dull."

Then she said seriously, "Uncle if I am to answer this

invitation as I wish, I would really rather not go—at the
present, at all events. I know I would have many
temptations there to which I am not exposed here; and
although I believe Jesus would enable me to resist them,
still—" and she lowered her eyes as she spoke—"I am only a
beginner yet in the Christian life, and I am fearful I might
not prove a loyal banner-bearer in that household. No,
uncle; if you and auntie will keep me yet a bit, I would
rather not go; though I do wish to go to Mrs. Forbes' if I
may. I do so love the dear old lady; and the girls are so nice
also. Dull, indeed I only wish Clara were one half as happy a
girl as I am! Uncle, I do think people can't be really happy
till they have learned to love Jesus. I am sure, when I think
of what I was two years ago and what I am now, I can sing
truly—"

"'Oh happy day, that fixed my choice

On thee, my Saviour and my God!'"

Her uncle drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly.

"Thank God you can say that, Nora. I do believe your dear
mother's prayers are answered for you, that you might be
led to seek after the wisdom that is better far than gold and
rubies."

CHAPTER XII.
SOUGHT AND FOUND.

"Ring the bells of heaven! There is joy to-day,

For the wanderer now is reconciled:
 Yes! A soul is rescued from his sinful way,
And is born anew—a ransomed child!"

OUR scene changes from the Highland glen to a large

mercantile house in the city of London. It was three o'clock
on a winter day, and the gas had already been lighted
indoors and in the streets; but work was going on busily
yet. Clerks were running here and there giving orders to the
many porters who stood awaiting them, while several still
worked hard at the desks to which they had been chained
for hours.

The season was a busy one, and work-hours were longer

than usual then; but there was no look of discontent on the
faces—visions of holiday-time and Christmas were rising
before most and cheering them on. Besides, the heads of
that firm had always a kindly word for their employes. Here
and there, in a pause of the busy work, the young men
might be heard discussing their plans for the coming
evening or the approaching Christmas week.

"I'm off to the theatre to-night," said one, addressing a

gentle-looking lad who sat beside him. "Will you come with
me, Farran? There is a famous new actor to appear, and the
play is a good one. There's no use asking Macintosh or any
of his set, for they never go; they're a dull lot. But you're
different. Besides, you've seen so little of the world, it will
do you a deal of good. Say yes, and I'll manage about a
ticket."

The lad thus addressed hardly seemed to hear the question

put to him, for just then he was looking fixedly at a
neighbouring desk, at which sat a handsome young man,
with a look of quiet joy on his face that told of a heart at
peace.
Then he turned quickly, as if awakening out of a dream. "A
dull lot, did you say, Perkins? Then Macintosh does not
belong to it. He is always so happy; you never see him
sulking and disagreeable, like some of the other fellows. I
was just looking at him now, and wondering how he
contrives always to be so cheerful?"

"Oh, well, I suppose he's happy enough. I bear him no ill-

will, but I hate cant. Now, what about the theatre? Let us
leave Macintosh alone; he can go his way, we'll go ours. A
short life and a merry, say I!"

Farran hesitated; he liked neither the tone of his

companion's voice nor the words he spoke. Was it merely
his own thoughts, or did whispered words really reach his
ear—"If sinners entice thee, consent thou not"?

In any case, the effect was the same. A whitewashed house

in a country village rose before his eyes; and there, with a
bunch of pure white roses in her hand, stood his gentle,
loving, widowed mother as he had seen her last, when she
said farewell to him, and repeated the very words which
now sounded in his ears:

"My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not."

He turned to his companion, and in a tone of decision said,

"Thanks, Perkins, for your offer of a ticket to the theatre,
but I would rather not go. I am not ashamed to confess that
I know my doing so would grieve the most loving-hearted
mother that ever a lad possessed; and so, although she
never said to me not to go, still I believe she trusted me to
respect her wishes in this matter, and I mean, God helping
me, to do it. You know I am the only son of my mother, and
she is a widow."
Perkins's only answer was a low whistle of contempt, and
any further conversation was stopped by the head of the
firm, Mr. Arbuthnot, tapping young Farran on the shoulder.
"Look here," he said, "I have to go off in a hurry; take this
letter to Macintosh, and tell him I forgot to give it to him
when I was speaking to him just now. It came for him just
after he had left the house this morning. See, he has left his
desk and moved to the other end!"

Farran rose to fulfil Mr. Arbuthnot's order.

Macintosh took the letter with thanks, then began to speak

to Farran. "It seems strange," he said, "that we two, who
spend our days in the same place, have never yet
exchanged words. My cousin told me that you were, like
myself, from the country—a stranger in London. If your
Saturdays are not always engaged, would you join me in a
walk? It is pleasant on the Heath if the day be fine. Say, to-
morrow?"

Farran gave a hearty response to the proposal, adding, "I

often long for a breath of country air in this smoky town,
but walking alone is stupid work."

And so a friendship, which we have not time to follow out,

was struck up between these two; and to Ronald was given
once more the joy of lending a hand to hold up the faltering
steps of a weak child of God, who had well-nigh slipped
amidst the temptations of a crowded city and the
attractions of thoughtless companions.

Ere long Farran could write to his mother that he "believed

that God had given him Ronald Macintosh as a friend and
companion in answer to her prayers." And who shall say
that it was not even so?
Snow fell on the evening of the day we are writing of, and
the children at many a window in the comfortable houses of
luxury in the west of London watched with delight the merry
snowflakes, as they called them, as they fell whirling about
with every breath of air. All over the great city they fell,
covering up the dirt in the crowded, dingy streets and
courts, as well as whitening the large parks and gardens.

Very fast they seemed to fall on the window-sill of a poor

lodging-house, where a lad, sick unto death, tossed from
side to side on his comfortless bed. Far from home and
friends, he lay forsaken and desolate, reaping the bitter
harvest of a wasted life, experiencing even now the truth of
the Scripture words, that "the wages of sin is death;" "the
way of transgressors is hard." Yes, he felt it now; and
somehow it seemed to him as if the little snowflakes were
repeating the words to him over and over again: "The way
of transgressors is hard." No other words would come just
then to his memory; but before his eyes floated a far-off
vision of a lowly Highland hut, and an old woman, and of
just such a snowy winter day, when he had stolen away
from his happy home, enticed by wild companions, to
escape the dull life, as they termed it, of the Highland glen,
and try his fortune in the great city.

He had not meant then to leave his home and kind

grandmother for ever. He had had visions of making a
fortune, and returning to keep her in comfort in her old age.
But the wrong step taken, he gradually fell, first into ways
of idleness, and then into worse ways; had roamed about
from land to land, weary and unsatisfied, till now he lay
dying in a comfortless London lodging-house, his only friend
obliged to leave him, while he had refused to let him tell his
Scotch friends anything about him. So now, he said to
himself, there was no help for it—he must die. Scripture
words of hope, blessed invitations of love from God's own
lips, were well known to him; his Scotch Bible education
had left him no stranger to those words of psalms and
paraphrases sung in the quiet country church on Sabbath
days. They often rose to memory. But he refused to take
the comfort; he said they were not for him. He could join
the many in saying, "All we like sheep have gone astray; we
have turned every one to his own way;" but as yet he
stopped there.

And so on that winter evening he lay, before his eyes a

picture of high mountains, on which the snowflakes were
falling even then, and in his ears the rush of the Highland
river as it dashed through the pass, near which stood the
home of his childhood. Oh, to see it once again! To hear, but
for one moment, the dearly-loved accents of the Gaelic
tongue, to him sweeter and more melodious than any other
language in the world—to feel once again the loving hand of
his grandmother laid on his brow, as she was wont to do in
his boyish days when she gave him her goodnight blessing!

As he thought of these things, the tears fell fast, and an

agony of bitter repentance filled his heart; and for the first
time the words, spoken in what to those around him was an
unknown language, broke from his lips, "God be merciful to
me sinner!"

The landlord of the house, who had strolled in at that

moment, heard the words, and turned hastily away. He said
to himself, "I do wish some friend would turn up; that lad
Finlay said he had written to his people in the north."

But the words had struck on the ear of a young man who
was just entering the room, after having asked "if a lad
called John Robertson lodged there."