and half in the shade, they sat down. In a little while the pleasant
influence of the scene chased the dreariness from Christie's thoughts,
and she looked about with eyes that did not seem able to satisfy
themselves with its beauty.

"How lovely it is here!" she repeated. "How green and fresh everything
is! The very grass seems beautiful!" And she caressed with her hand
the smooth turf on which they were seated.

"It's a wonder to me how people can choose to live in the midst of a
town, with nothing to see that's bonny but a strip of blue sky now and
then."

"It's a wonder to me," said John, smiling.

"Oh, but I mean people that may live wherever they choose. There are
people that like the town best. Where it is right to stay, I suppose
one can be content in time. I think if I hadna home and the rest to
think about and wish for, I might be willing to live here always. But
at first--oh, I thought I could never, _never_ stay! But I am not sorry
I came. I shall never be sorry for that."

There was something in her earnest manner, and in the happy look that
came over her face as she spoke, that arrested the attention of John;
and he said:

"You have been happy here, then, upon the whole?"

"Yes; upon the whole," repeated she, thoughtfully; "but it wasna that I
was thinking about."

"Christie, do you know I think you have changed very much since you used
to come and see my mother? You have changed; and yet you are the very
same: there's a paradox for you, as Peter O'Neil would say."

His words were light, but there was a meaning in his grave smile that
made Christie's heart leap; and her answer was at first a startled look,
and then a sudden gush of happy tears. Then came good John Nesbitt's
voice entreating a blessing on "his little sister in Christ"; and this
made them flow the faster. But, oh, they were such happy, happy tears!
and very happy was the hour that followed.

Now and then there comes an hour, in the intercourse of friends with
each other, which reveals to each more of the inner and spiritual life
of the other than years of common intercourse could do; and this was
such an hour. I cannot tell all that was said. The words might seem to
many a reader tame and common-place enough, but many of them Christie
never forgot while she lived, and many of them John Nesbitt will not
cease to remember to his dying day.

Christie had no thought of showing him all that was in her heart. She
did