eedna tell you that, and we'll soon be back again."

The children chattered merrily all the way, and busy with her own
thoughts, Janet answered them without knowing what she said. Down the
lane, and over the burn, through green fields, till the burn crossed
their path again they went, "the near way," and soon the solitary
cottage in the glen was in sight. It was a very humble home, but very
pleasant in its loneliness, Janet thought, as her eye fell on it. The
cat sat sunning herself on the step, and through the open door came the
hum of the mother's busy wheel. Drawing a long breath, Janet entered.

"Weel, mother," said she.

"Weel, Janet, is this you, and the bairns? I doubt you hadna weel
leavin' hame the day," said her mother.

"I had to come, and this day's as good as another. It's a bonny day,
mother."

"Ay, its a bonny day, and a seasonable, thank God. Come in by, bairns,
I sent Sandy over to Fernie a while syne. It's near time he were hame
again. I'll give you a piece, and you'll go down the glen to meet him,"
and, well pleased, away they went.

"I dare say you'll be none the waur of your tea, Janet, woman," said her
mother, and she put aside her wheel, and entered with great zeal into
her preparations. Janet strove to have patience with her burden a
little longer, and sat still listening to her mother's talk, asking and
answering questions on indifferent subjects. There was no pause. Janet
had seldom seen her mother so cheerful, and in a little she found
herself wondering whether she had not been exaggerating to herself her
mother's need of her.

"The thought ought to give me pleasure," she reasoned, but it did not,
and she accused herself of perversity, in not being able to rejoice,
that her mother could easily spare her to the duties she believed
claimed her. In the earnestness of her thoughts, she grew silent at
last, or answered her mother at random. Had she been less occupied, she
might have perceived that her mother was not so cheerful as she seemed
for many a look of wistful earnestness was fastened on her daughter's
face, and now and then a sigh escaped her.

They were very much alike in appearances, the mother and daughter. The
mother had been "bonnier in her youth, than ever Janet had," she used to
say herself, and looking at her still ruddy cheeks, and clear grey eyes,
it was not difficult to believe it. She was fresh-looking yet, at
sixty, and though the hair drawn back under