s hardly yet
aware of the fact. She knew him now for a mortal, but, just as it
had been with Donal and his mother, he continued to affect her as a
creature of some higher world, come down on a mission of good-will
to men. At the same time she had, oddly enough, a feeling as if the
beast-boy were still somewhere not far off, held aloof only by the
presence of the angel who had assumed his shape.

Gibbie took her hand, and led her towards the path she had left; she
yielded without a movement of question. But he did not lead her far
in that direction; he turned to the left up the mountain. It grew
wilder as they ascended. But the air was so thin and invigorating,
the changes so curious and interesting, as now they skirted the edge
of a precipitous rock, now scrambled up the steepest of paths by the
help of the heather that nearly closed over it, and the reaction of
relief from the terror she had suffered so exciting, that she never
for a moment felt tired. Then they went down the side of a little
burn--a torrent when the snow was dissolving, and even now a good
stream, whose dance and song delighted her: it was the same, as she
learned afterwards, to whose song under her window she listened
every night in bed, trying in vain to make out the melted tune.
Ever after she knew this, it seemed, as she listened, to come
straight from the mountain to her window, with news of the stars and
the heather and the sheep. They crossed the burn and climbed the
opposite bank. Then Gibbie pointed, and there was the cottage, and
there was Nicie coming up the path to it, with Oscar bounding before
her! The dog was merry, but Nicie was weeping bitterly. They were
a good way off, with another larger burn between; but Gibbie
whistled, and Oscar came flying to him. Nicie looked up, gave a
cry, and like a sheep to her lost lamb came running.

"Oh, missie!" she said, breathless, as she reached the opposite bank
of the burn, and her tone had more than a touch of sorrowful
reproach in it, "what garred ye rin awa'?"

"There was a road, Nicie, and I thought you would come after me."

"I was a muckle geese, missie; but eh! I'm glaid I hae gotten ye.
Come awa' an' see my mother."

"Yes, Nicie. We'll tell her all about it. You see I haven't got a
mother to tell, so I will tell yours."

From that hour Nicie's mother was a mother to Ginny as well.

"Anither o' 's lambs to feed!" she said to herself.

If a woman be a mother she ma