on poor
people.'

'That's true,' brightening up visibly. 'He is no severe taskmaster
demanding bricks out of stubble; He knows poor labouring people are often
tired, and out of heart. I used to say to my master sometimes, "Ah well,
we must leave all that for heaven; we shall have a fine rest there, and
plenty of time to sing our hymns and talk to the Lord Jesus. He was a
labouring man too, and He will know all about it." I often comforted my
master like that.'

Elspeth's quaint talk interested me greatly. I grew to love her dearly,
and I liked to feel that she was fond of me in return. I could have sat
by her contentedly for hours, holding her hard work-worn hand and
listening to her gentle flow of talk with its Scriptural phrases and
simple realistic thoughts. It was like washing some pilgrim's feet at
a feast to listen to Elspeth.

One evening she told me that she had been thinking of me.

'I wanted to know what you were like, my bairn,' she said, with her
pretty Scotch accent; 'and the doctor came in as I was turning it over
in my mind, so I made bold to ask him to describe you. I thought he was
a long time answering, and at last he said, "What put that into your
head, granny?" as if he were a little bit taken aback by the question.

'"Well, doctor," I returned, "we all of us like to see the faces of those
we love; and I am all in the dark. That dear young lady is doing the
Lord's work with all her might, and she has a voice that makes me think
of heaven, and the choirs of angels, and the golden harps, and maybe her
face is as beautiful as her voice."

'"Oh no," he says quite sharply to that, "she is not beautiful at all:
indeed, I am not sure that most people would not think her plain."

'I suppose I was an old ninny, but I did not like to hear him say this,
my bairn, for I knew it could not be the truth; but he went on after a
minute,--

'"It is not easy to describe the face of a person one knows so well. I
find it difficult to answer your question. Miss Garston has such a true
face, one seems to trust it in a minute: it is the face of an honest
kindly woman who will never do you any harm;" and then I saw what he
meant. Why, bairn, the angels have this sort of beauty, and it lasts the
longest; that is the sort of face they have there.'

I heard all this silently, and was thankful that Elspeth's blind eyes
could not see the burning flush of mortification that rose to my face.
The dear garrulous old body,