e about wedding garments, and expenses."

"Well, Christine, of all life's fare, God's daily bread is best.
Answer your letter here, and I will mail it for you. In a few days you
will have plenty of money. Go at once, and put it in the bank."

"I will, Sir. And when I get home, I will begin another book at
once."

"Go with the fish, until you have the money in your hand. Things
unforeseen might happen to delay payment. Good Fortune does not like
us to be too sure of her. I have seen her change her mind in that
case."

"You are always right, Sir. I will do as you say."

"In three days you may expect the money. Do your work as if you were
not expecting it. Miss nothing of your duty."

So Christine went the second morning, and had extraordinary success.
Among the "Quality Houses" they were watching for her. They had never
before seen such fine, and such fresh fish. They would have no others.
She went home with her little purse full of silver, and her heart
singing within her. It was not, after all, so bad to be a fisher-girl.
If it was all small money, it was all ready money. And the people who
had known her mother had remembered her, and spoken kindly of her, and
Christine loved them for it. She had not yet forgotten. Oh no! Many
times in the day and night she cried softly, "Mither! Mither! Where
are ye? Dinna forget Christine!"

On the third morning she had a little adventure. She was delaying, for
she was waiting for the mail, and had taken a cup of tea with her
mother's old friend. She stood in the doorway talking, and Christine
was on the sidewalk, at the foot of the steps. Her empty basket was at
her feet. She stood beside it, and the sunshine fell all over her. Its
searching light revealed nothing but a perfection of form, a
loveliness of face, and a charm of manner, that defied all adverse
criticism. She looked as the women of that elder world, who were the
mothers of godlike heroes, must have looked.

Suddenly her friend ceased her conversation, and in a low hurried
voice said,

"Here comes the young master, and his bride! Look at them."

Then Christine turned her face to the street, and as she did so, a
carriage passed slowly, and Angus Ballister looked at her with an
unmistakable intention. It was a stern, contemptuous gaze, that
shocked Christine. She could make no response but sheer amazement, and
when the carriage had passed it required all her strength to say a
steady "good-morning" to her friend