rocht up," and rarely was there a word uttered among them
which it would have harmed the youngest child to hear. There was Scotch
of the broadest in their songs and in their talk, and the manse boys,
who were expected to speak English in the presence of their father and
mother, among their companions made the most of their opportunities for
the use of their own more expressive tongue. But there was no vulgarity
or coarseness in their talk.

As silent here as elsewhere, the presence of "the new lass," as the
visitors, long accustomed to old Kirstin, called her, did not interfere
in the least with the order of things. She might have been blind or
deaf for all the difference it made to them, and, except on the rare
occasions when little Marjorie was permitted to be there, for all the
difference their coming made to her. When Marjorie was there, Allison's
wheel, or the stocking she was knitting, was put aside, and the child
rested at ease and content in her arms. No one of them all took more
pleasure at such times than Marjorie. She liked the stories and the
songs and the quaint old ballads, of which Robin and some of the others
had a store, and she was a sympathetic little creature, and could not be
happy unless Allie enjoyed them also, so her attention was never allowed
to wander when the child's hand could touch her cheek.

But better than either song or story, Marjorie liked to hear about all
that was going on in the town. Nothing came amiss to her that any one
had to tell. She liked to hear about their neighbours, and the bairns,
their goings and comings, their sickness and recovery. Even their new
gowns and their visits to one another interested the friendly little
child, who could not visit herself, nor wear new gowns, and the lad who
had the most to say about them all was the one who pleased her best.
All they used to tell her made her a little sad sometimes, for she could
not come and go, or run and play, as those happy children could, and her
chief desire was to be strong and well and "to go about on her own feet
like other folk."

January was nearly over before there came any frost to speak of, and the
first bright, sharp weather, it was said, did much good to the sick folk
in the town. Then they had snow--not just a shower to excite first
expectation and then disappointment among the lads and lassies who
rejoiced in its coming, as they mostly delighted in any change that
came--but a heavy fall, and t