ature. How could she smile? Did not the world lie under the wrath
and curse of God? Was not her own son in hell for ever? Had not the
blood of the Son of God been shed for him in vain? Had not God meant
that it should be in vain? For by the gift of his Spirit could he not
have enabled him to accept the offered pardon? And for anything she
knew, was not Robert going after him to the place of misery? How could
she smile?

'Noo be dooce,' she said, the moment she had shaken hands with them,
with her cold hands, so clean and soft and smooth. With a volcanic heart
of love, her outside was always so still and cold!--snow on the
mountain sides, hot vein-coursing lava within. For her highest duty was
submission to the will of God. Ah! if she had only known the God who
claimed her submission! But there is time enough for every heart to know
him.

'Noo be dooce,' she repeated, 'an' sit doon, and tell me aboot the fowk
at Bodyfauld. I houpe ye thankit them, or ye left, for their muckle
kindness to ye.'

The boys were silent.

'Didna ye thank them?'

'No, grannie; I dinna think 'at we did.'

'Weel, that was ill-faured o' ye. Eh! but the hert is deceitfu' aboon
a' thing, and desperately wicked. Who can know it? Come awa'. Come awa'.
Robert, festen the door.'

And she led them to the corner for prayer, and poured forth a confession
of sin for them and for herself, such as left little that could have
been added by her own profligate son, had he joined in the prayer.
Either there are no degrees in guilt, or the Scotch language was equal
only to the confession of children and holy women, and could provide no
more awful words for the contrition of the prodigal or the hypocrite.
But the words did little harm, for Robert's mind was full of the kite
and the violin, and was probably nearer God thereby than if he had
been trying to feel as wicked as his grandmother told God that he was.
Shargar was even more divinely employed at the time than either; for
though he had not had the manners to thank his benefactor, his heart had
all the way home been full of tender thoughts of Miss Lammie's kindness;
and now, instead of confessing sins that were not his, he was loving
her over and over, and wishing to be back with her instead of with this
awfully good woman, in whose presence there was no peace, for all the
atmosphere of silence and calm in which she sat.

Confession over, and the boys at liberty again, a new anxiety seized
them. Gran