exclaimed, dropping his knife and fork, "there is
Little Bill or his ghost coming up the track."

"Impossible, Peter," said the good lady, with, however, a look of
anxiety which showed she believed that, or something else, to be quite
possible.

"Look for yourself, mother," cried Peter, springing up and running out.

"It _is_ Billie," said Jessie, reflecting her mother's anxiety; "what
can have brought them back so soon?"

Peter re-entered at the moment with Little Bill in his arms. He set the
boy down and again ran out.

Taking the widow's trembling hand in both of his, Billie addressed her
as "mother," like the rest of the family.

"Dan has been hurt," he said, in his soft way, "and he's come home to
get well. They will bring him up directly."

"Is he too ill to walk?" asked the widow.

"No, not too ill--but too weak," answered the matter-of-fact Billie.
"Indeed he is not ill at all, but he has lost a _heap_ of blood, for
they shot him."

Jessie waited to hear no more, but immediately followed Peter, and the
small servant Louise followed suit; leaving the widow in a half-fainting
condition with the boy. But she did not remain long thus, for just then
old Duncan McKay entered by the back-door.

"It will be bad news you've been hearin', Mrs Davidson," he said, in
some surprise, pouring out a glass of water as he spoke, and
considerately handing it to the widow.

"Yes--O yes! I've just heard that Dan has been shot."

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the horrified old man, almost falling into a
chair. "Iss--iss he tead?"

"No, thank God--only weak from loss of blood. He'll be here directly."

"That iss goot news--whatever; for as long as there's life there's
hope."

Trying to comfort himself, as well as his friend, with this truism, the
old man staggered out of the house in search of those who had gone
before.

Soon a sad procession was seen coming up the path, led by Archie. Four
men carried Dan on a rudely-extemporised litter. His bloodless face and
lips gave him the appearance of death, but the glow in his eyes told of
still unexhausted life.

"I'll be all right, mother," he said feebly, as they laid him on his
bed. "I only want food and rest. Thank God--home at last!"

As he spoke, a quiet step was heard, and Elspie, with a face as pale as
his own, knelt by his bedside and took his hand.

That touch was the first impulse the youth received towards decided
recovery. Old McKay perceived th