how dreary life at home
must have been all the year.

"Poor Graeme! and poor wee Rosie!" he says to himself, stooping over the
cradle.

"How old is Rosie?" asked he, suddenly.

"Near three years old," said Janet.

"She winna be three till August," said Graeme in the same breath, and
she turned beseeching eyes on Janet. For this was becoming a vexed
question between them--the guiding of poor wee Rosie. Janet was a
disciplinarian, and ever declared that Rosie "should go to her bed like
ither folk;" but Graeme could never find it in her heart to vex her
darling, and so the cradle still stood in the down-stairs parlour for
Rosie's benefit, and it was the elder sister's nightly task to soothe
the fretful little lady to her unwilling slumbers.

But Graeme had no need to fear discussion to-night. Janet's mind was
full of other thoughts. One cannot shed oceans of tears and leave no
sign; and Janet, by no means sure of herself, sat with her face turned
from the light, intently gazing on the very small print of the Bible in
her hand. On common occasions the bairns would not have let Janet's
silence pass unheeded, but to-night they were busy discussing matters of
importance, and except to say now and then, "Whist, bairns! your father
will be here!" she sat without a word.

There was a hush at last, as a step was heard descending the stairs, and
in a minute their father entered. It was not fear that quieted them.
There was no fear in the frank, eager eyes turned toward him, as he sat
down among them. His was a face to win confidence and respect, even at
the first glance, so grave and earnest was it, yet withal so gentle and
mild. In his children's hearts the sight of it stirred deep love, which
grew to reverence as they grew in years. The calm that sat on that
high, broad brow, told of conflicts passed, and victory secure, of weary
wandering through desert places, over now and scarce remembered in the
quiet of the resting-place he had found. His words and deeds, and his
chastened views of earthly things told of a deep experience in "that
life which is the heritage of the few--that true life of God in the soul
with its strange, rich secrets, both of joy and sadness," whose peace
the world knoweth not of, which naught beneath the sun can ever more
disturb.

"The minister is changed--greatly changed." Janet had said many times
to herself and others during the last few months, and she said it now,
as her eye with th