got another woman to take Kirsty's duties, and set her to
nurse me, after which illness became almost a luxury. With Kirsty
near, nothing could go wrong. And the growing better was pure
enjoyment.

Once, when Kirsty was absent for a little while, Mrs. Mitchell brought
me some gruel.

"The gruel's not nice," I said.

"It's perfectly good, Ranald, and there's no merit in complaining when
everybody's trying to make you as comfortable as they can," said the
Kelpie.

"Let me taste it," said Kirsty, who that moment entered the
room.--"It's not fit for anybody to eat," she said, and carried it
away, Mrs. Mitchell following her with her nose horizontal.

Kirsty brought the basin back full of delicious gruel, well boiled,
and supplemented with cream. I am sure the way in which she
transformed that basin of gruel has been a lesson to me ever since as
to the quality of the work I did. No boy or girl can have a much
better lesson than--to do what must be done as well as it can be
done. Everything, the commonest, well done, is something for the
progress of the world; that is, lessens, if by the smallest
hair's-breadth, the distance between it and God.

Oh, what a delight was that first glowing summer afternoon upon which
I was carried out to the field where Turkey was herding the cattle! I
could not yet walk. That very morning, as I was being dressed by
Kirsty, I had insisted that I could walk quite well, and Kirsty had
been over-persuaded into letting me try. Not feeling steady on my
legs, I set off running, but tumbled on my knees by the first chair I
came near. I was so light from the wasting of my illness, that Kirsty
herself, little woman as she was, was able to carry me. I remember
well how I saw everything double that day, and found it at first very
amusing. Kirsty set me down on a plaid in the grass, and the next
moment, Turkey, looking awfully big, and portentously healthy, stood
by my side. I wish I might give the conversation in the dialect of my
native country, for it loses much in translation; but I have promised,
and I will keep my promise.

"Eh, Ranald!" said Turkey, "it's not yourself?"

"It's me, Turkey," I said, nearly crying with pleasure.

"Never mind, Ranald," he returned, as if consoling me in some
disappointment; "we'll have rare fun yet."

"I'm frightened at the cows, Turkey. Don't let them come near me."

"No, that I won't," answered Turkey, brandishing his club to give me
confidence, "_I_'ll