o the stable. Losh, Charles, man, and
how hae ye been? But ye dinna ken me, man; I'm your auld schulefellow,
Bob Graham, and this is my wife, Mysie Allan--ye mind o' Mysie! Haste
ye, Mysie lass, kill twa ducks, and the bairns and me will hool the
peas. Really, Charles, man, I'm sae glad to see ye!"

During this harangue, Charles, led by his warmhearted friend, had
entered the dwelling of his nativity; where Mr Graham again continued--

"Ye aiblins dinna ken that auld Andrew Weir was sae sair in the dorts
when ye gaed awa, that he set aff wi' Betty for America. But I hear they
are comin hame again this back end. The bairn will be a stout callant
noo, and faith ye maun marry Betty, for she was a mensefu lass."

Charles could only reply by exclaiming--

"America!--my wife!--my child!"

Having ascertained where he would find his parents, early on the
following morning he departed, and about five in the afternoon
approached the village where he had been told they resided. When near
the little burying-ground, he stopped to look upon the most melancholy
funeral procession he had ever witnessed. The humble coffin was scarce
coloured, and they who bore it seemed tired of their burden. Three or
four aged and poor-looking people walked behind it. Scarce was it
lowered into the grave, ere all departed save one, meanly clothed in
widow's weeds, and bent rather with the load of grief than of years. She
alone lingered, weeping over the hastily-covered grave.

"She seems poor," said Charles, "and if I cannot comfort her, I may at
least relieve her necessities;" and, fastening his horse to the gate, he
entered the churchyard.

She held an old handkerchief before her face, only removing it at
intervals to steal a hurried glance at the new-made grave.

"Good woman," said Charles, as he approached her, "your sorrows demand
my sympathy--could I assist you?"

"No! no!" replied the poor widow, without raising her face; "but I thank
you for your kindness. Can the grave give up its dead?"

"But why should you remain here?" said he, with emotion; "tell me, could
not I assist you?" And he placed a piece of money in her hand.

"No! no!" cried the widow, bitterly, and raising her head; "oh, that
Mary Lawson should have lived to be offered charity on her husband's
grave!"

"My mother! Gracious heaven, my mother!" exclaimed Charles, casting his
arms around her neck.

Shall we describe the scene that followed? We will not--we cannot. He