the other sides were low;
and sitting beneath the laburnums near the house, on the upper edge of
the sloping lawn, one could see the fields, and the hills, and a
farmhouse or two, and the windings of the burn which nearly made an
island of the town. From the end of the west wall, where it touched the
hawthorn hedge, one could see the town itself. The manse and the kirk
could be distinguished, but not very clearly. Seen from the hill the
place looked only an irregular group of little grey houses, for the
green of the narrow gardens behind was mostly hidden, and even the trees
along the lanes seemed small in the distance. But Marjorie liked to
look down over it now and then, to make sure that all was safe there
when she was away.

It was a strange experience for her to be for hours away from her own
home, and even out of the town.

Poor little Marjorie had passed more time on her couch in her mother's
parlour, during her life of eleven years, than in all other places put
together. She was happy in the change, and enjoyed greatly the sight of
something new, and there were many beautiful things for her to see in
Mrs Esselmont's house. But she needed "to get used with it," and just
at first a day at a time was quite enough for her strength. The day was
not allowed to be very long, and the pleasure of getting home again was
almost as great as the pleasure of getting away had been. But the best
of all was, that the child was getting a little stronger.

There was much besides this to make it a good and happy summer at the
manse. The younger lads were busy at school under a new master, who
seemed to be in a fair way to make scholars of them all, Robin was full
of delight at the thought that _at last_ he was to go to college, and he
fully intended to distinguish himself there. He said "at last," though
he was only a month or two past sixteen, and had all his life before
him.

"Ay, ye hae a' ye're life afore ye, in which to serve the Lord or the
Deevil," Saunners Crombie took the opportunity to say to him, one night
after the evening meeting, when he first heard that the lad was to go
away.

Robin looked at him with angry eyes, and turned his back on him without
a word.

"Hoot, man Saunners! There is no fear o' the laddie," said his more
hopeful crony, Peter Gilchrist.

"Maybe no, and maybe ay. It'll be nae haflin course that yon lad will
tak'. He'll do verra well or verra ill, and I see no signs o' grace in