made, even if it involved the
necessity of Lilias' leaving her for a while. Indeed, it might have
been better, she sometimes thought, if she had never sought to keep the
child with her. It would be hard to part from her now.

Lilias, in the meantime, had come to the same resolution. The school
must be given up and she must tell her aunt and Archie; but first she
must think of something else, weeding, or herding, or going out to
service. Suddenly a new thought presented itself. It would not have
won for her much credit for wisdom in the parish, this idea of hers; but
Lilias only wondered that it had not occurred to her before.

"I'll ask Mrs Stirling's advice. If she's not down before Saturday,
I'll go up and speak to her. She'll surely know of something that I can
do."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

Mrs Stirling's cottage stood not far from the high-road that leads to
Dunmoor, at the distance of a mile and a half from Kirklands. It was
Nancy's own, and though humble and small, it was yet a very comfortable
abode; for her reputation for neatness and order was as well established
as her reputation for grumbling. There were no evidences of a refined
taste about the place; but perfect order prevailed. There was not a
weed in the garden without, nor a speck in the house within. Every
article made of wood was as white as soap and sand or as bright as
turpentine and wax and much rubbing could make it; and every piece of
metal was dazzling to behold.

There were some relics of former grandeur, too; for Mrs Stirling had
not always lived in so humble a home. Her husband had been prosperous
in a small way, but the property he left had been sadly mismanaged after
his death, or there would have been a larger portion for his widow. But
she had enough to supply her simple wants; and there were those among
her neighbours so uncharitable as to say that she enjoyed the
opportunity for murmuring which its loss afforded, more than she could
have enjoyed the possession of twice her means.

"Mrs Stirling might be as happy as the day is long, with nobody to
trouble her from one year's end to the other," was the frequent remark
of many a toil-worn mother, fighting with poverty and cares, in the
midst of many children. Yet none of them would have changed her life of
care for Nancy's solitary comfort. Not that Nancy did not enjoy life in
her way. She enjoyed greatly putting things to rights and keeping
things in