in the lane beyond, seemed once more above her
and around her. And then the sound of her mother's gentle chiding, when
she found her sitting there after the shadows had grown long, came back.
Her voice, her smile, the very gown and cap she wore, and the
needlework she carried in her hand, came sensibly before her. Yet how
long ago it seemed! Christie remembered how many times she had taken it
with her to the fields, when the incompleteness of their fences during
the first year of their stay on the farm had made the "herding" of the
sheep and cows necessary that the grain might be safe. She had read it
in the woods in spring-time, by the firelight in the long winter
evenings, and by stealth on Sundays, when the weather had kept her from
the kirk. It was associated in her remembrance with many things
pleasant and many things sad; and no wonder that for a while she turned
over the leaves, catching only here and there a glimpse of the familiar
words, because of the tears that hid them.

Sitting on the floor, with the book held close to her face, she read,
and forgot all else. The little lad tossed and murmured, and
mechanically she put forth her hand and rocked him in his crib; but she
neither heard nor saw when the door opened and some one came in.

It was Miss Gertrude. A look of surprise passed over her face as she
caught a glimpse of the reader on the floor, but it gave place to
interest and amusement as she watched her. Her absorbed look never
changed, even when she rocked and murmured soothing words to the
restless child. She read on--sometimes smiling, sometimes sighing, but
never lifting her eyes--till Miss Gertrude came forward and spoke.

"Well, how have you been getting on?"

Christie started, as if it had been Aunt Elsie's voice she heard; and at
the look of astonishment and dismay that spread itself over her face,
the young lady laughed.

"How has Claude been, all these days?" she asked, softly, as she bent
over the crib.

"He has been quite well and quite good, I think," said Christie, trying
to collect her scattered wits.

"Has the doctor been here?" asked Miss Gertrude.

"Yes; he was here this morning. He asked when you were coming home, but
I couldn't tell him."

"Well, I'm here now; and I'm going to stay, too! If the doctor thinks
he is going to banish Clement and me from home for the next month, he
will find himself mistaken. For my part, I don't see the use of his
coming here so of