"Tak' the room and welcome. Neil had it for many a year. It has a
feeling o' books and lesson-larning in it."

So that night, when her mother was in her first sleep, Christine took
her books into this large, silent room. It faced the sea. It had an
atmosphere different from that of any other room in the house, and no
one but herself was likely to enter it. There was a broad sill to the
largest window, and Christine arranged the Domine's books on it. In
the dozen or more volumes there was a pleasant variety--history,
poetry and the popular novels of the time--especially the best work of
George Eliot, Miss Braddon, Thackeray, and Dickens.

It was all so wonderful to Christine, she could hardly believe it. She
touched them lovingly, she could have kissed them. For in those days
in Scotland, good literature was yet a sort of luxury. A person in a
country place who had a good novel, and was willing to loan it, was a
benefactor. Christine had borrowed from the schoolmaster's wife all
she had to lend, and for several weeks had been without mental food
and mental outlook. Was there any wonder that she was depressed and
weary-looking?

Now all quickly changed. The housework went with her as if it were
paid to do so. She sang as she worked. She was running in and out of
Mither's room with unfailing cheerfulness, and Margot caught her happy
tone, and they were sufficient for each other. Mother and books would
have been sufficient alone, but they had also many outside ties and
interests. The Domine allowed Jamie to go to grandmother's once a day.
There were Cluny and Neil, and all the rest of the boys, the Domine
and the villagers, the kirk and the school; and always Jamie came in
the afternoon, and brought with him the daily _Glasgow Herald_. It was
the Domine's way. At first he had not consciously recognized what
Christine required, but as soon as the situation was evident to him,
he hasted to perform the good work, and he did the duty liberally, and
wearied not in it.

So the days came and went, and neither Margot nor Christine counted
them, and Cluny came whenever he could by any travel get a few hours
with Christine. And the herring season came and went again, and was
not very successful. Margot and Christine were sorry, but it was no
longer a matter of supreme importance. Still, the gossip concerning
the fishing always interested Margot, and someone generally brought it
to her. If no one did, she frankly asked the Domine