ever a fatherless
child was left to the Lord, you left Sandy for our sakes, and He will
never forsake him--never, _never_!"

Janet's tears were falling softly now, like the bright drops after the
tempest is over, and the bow of promise is about to span the heavens.

"And, Janet, we all love you dearly." Graeme had risen, and put her
arms round her neck by this time. "Sometimes the boys are rough, and
don't seem to care, but they do care; and I'm thoughtless, too, and
careless," she added, humbly, "but I was that with my mother, whiles,
and you ken I loved her dearly." And the cry of pain that came with the
words, told how dearly her mother was remembered still. Janet held her
close.

"And, Janet, you must 'mind me of things, as my mother used to do. When
I get a book, you ken I forget things, and you winna let me do wrong for
my mother's sake. We have no mother, Janet, and what could we do
without you? And all this pain will pass away, and you will grow
light-hearted again."

And so it was. The worst was over after that night. Much more was said
before they separated, and Graeme realised, for the first time, some of
the discomforts of their present way of living, as far as Janet was
concerned. Housekeeping affairs had been left altogether in her hands,
and everything was so different from all that she had been accustomed
to, and she was slow to learn new ways. The produce system was a great
embarrassment to her. This getting "a pickle meal" from one, and "a
corn tawties" from another, she could not endure. It was "living from
hand to mouth" at best, to say nothing of the uncomfortable doubts now
and then, as to whether the articles brought were intended as presents,
or as the payment of the "minister's tax," as the least delicate among
the people called it.

"And, my dear, I just wish your father would get a settlement with them,
and we would begin again, and put aething down in a book. For I hae my
doubts as to how we are to make the two ends meet. Things mount up you
ken, and we maun try and guide things."

Graeme looked grave. "I wonder what my father thinks," said she. Janet
shook her head.

"We mauna trouble your father if we can help it. The last minister they
had had enough ado to live, they say, and he had fewer bairns. I'm no'
feared but we'll be provided for. And, Miss Graeme, my dear, you'll
need to begin and keep an account again."

Janet's voice had the old cheerful echo in it