nd her face changes, and her een look as if she
were seein' things no' there."

"My dear!" said her mother. "It might vex Allie for you to be watching
her face, and speaking about it, since she has never said a word about
her troubles to you."

"Oh, mother! It is only to you and Robin. Do you think I would speak
about my Allie to other folk?" and the tears came into the child's eyes.

"Now, Maysie," said her brother, "when ye begin to look like that, I ay
ken that ye're tired and likely to grow fractious and ill to do with.
So you must just lie still in my arms, and I'll sing ye to sleep. What
shall I sing? The _Lass o' Glenshee_? or _The Lord's my Shepherd_?"

It was not long before the child was sleeping sweetly on her little
couch, nor did the flush which her mother so dreaded to see, and which
too often followed any unusual excitement, come to her cheeks as she
slept. She slept well at night also, and nothing could be clearer than
that the long walk had done her no harm, but good.

So, a precedent being established, Marjorie had many a walk after that.

Sometimes she was allowed to spend an hour with Mrs Beaton, or auld
Maggie, or some other friend, and at such times Allison would leave her
and return for her again. It cannot be said that her limbs grew much
stronger, or that the dull pain in the weary little back troubled her no
more. But the change gave her new thoughts and new interests, and
rested her when she grew weary of her doll, and her books, and of the
quiet of the parlour, and sometimes even of her mother's company.

But when the days grew long and warm, there were even better things in
store for her, and for Allison also, through her tender care of the
child.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

"The spring cam' o'er the Westlin hill,
And the frost it fled awa',
And the green grass lookit smilin' up
Nane the waur for a' the snaw."

The winter had been so long in coming and so moist and mild when it
came, that weatherwise folk foretold a spring late and cold as sure to
follow. But for once they were all mistaken. Whatever might come
later, there came, when April had fairly set in, several days which
would have done credit to June itself, and on one of these days the
schoolmistress made up her mind that she would go down to the manse and
speak to the minister's wife about the bairns.

She was standing at her own door, looking out over the hills, which were
showing some signs of coming summ