garden ground before it. The gate yielded to her
hand, and so did the door. Allison felt her way to the inner door in
the dim light, and then she spoke:

"I'm the minister's lass. Mistress Hume is no' weel, or she would have
come herself. Will I licht your lamp?"

"Ay, might ye, if there is fire enough left," said a voice from the
darkness.

The lamp was lighted, and holding it high above her head, Allison turned
toward the bed. Mrs Beaton raised herself up, and regarded her for a
moment.

"And so you are wee Marjorie's bonny Allie! I am glad to see you."

"You're not weel. The minister said I was to do what ye needed done."

"It was kind of him to send you, and it is kind in you to come. I'm not
just very well. I was trying to settle myself for the night, since
there seemed nothing better to be done. Maybe ye might make my bed a
wee bit easier for me, if ye were to try."

"I'll do that," said Allison.

"Mrs Coats would have come in, I suppose; but her bairns are not well,
and she has enough to do. And Annie, the lassie that comes in to make
my fire and do other things, has gone to see her brother, who has just
come home from a long voyage. I'm more than glad to see you. It's
eerie being quite alone."

"I'm glad I came. Will I make you some gruel or a cup of tea? When had
you your dinner?"

"If you have the time to spare--"

There was time enough. In a minute or two the fire was burning
brightly. Allison knew what to do, and where to find what was needed
without a question; and Mrs Beaton lay, following her movements with
great interest.

"I was once young and strong like you," said she, with a sigh.

Allison said nothing, but went on with the making of the gruel.

"You have done that before," said Mrs Beaton.

"Ay, many a time."

She left the gruel to simmer by the fire, and taking the coverlid from
the bed, spread it over the arm-chair, then she lifted the sick woman as
if she had been a child, and placed her in it. Then she put a pillow
behind her, and wrapped her warmly round.

"And you have done this before."

Allison answered nothing.

"Was it your mother, my dear?" said Mrs Beaton, laying her small,
wrinkled hand on hers.

Allison turned toward her with startled eyes.

"Yes, it was my mother," said she.

"Ah! what a thing it must be to have a daughter!" went on Mrs Beaton;
and it was on her lips to ask if her mother were living still, but the
look on Allison's face