l about it, though he speaks hopefully to mother. Aunt
Barbara thinks if the poor little fellow should live, he may be
deformed, or lame for life. I think it would be much better for him to
die now, than to live to be deformed or a cripple."

"I don't know. I can't tell," said Christie, looking with a vague
wonder from the sleeping child to the sister who spoke so quietly about
his great misfortune. "It is well we have not to decide about these
things. God knows best."

"Yes, I suppose so. It is in vain to murmur, whatever may happen. But
there is a deal of trouble in the world." And the young lady sighed, as
though she had her share of it to bear.

Christie's astonishment increased. Looking at the young lady, she said
to herself that it was doubtful whether she knew in the least what she
was talking about.

"Troubles in the world? Yes, doubtless there are--plenty of them! But
what could she know of them?"

"Are you fond of reading?" asked Gertrude, after a little time, her eye
falling on the book which Christie still held.

"Yes," said Christie; "I like to read. This is the book you left the
other day. I only found it a little while ago."

"Have you read much of it? There are some pretty stories in it, I
think."

"Oh, yes; I read the book long ago. It was one of our favourites at
home. I like to read anything about home--about Scotland, I mean."

"And so do I," said Gertrude. "I knew you were Scotch when I heard you
speak. Is it long since you came? Have you been here long? Tell me
all about it."

In the short half-hour before Claude awoke, there was not time to tell
_all_ about it, but the young girls told each other enough to awaken a
mutual interest.

Miss Gertrude's mother had died when she was quite young, and she had
been committed to the care of an aunt, with whom she had continued to
reside for some time, even after the second marriage of her father. She
had had a very happy home, and had been educated with great care.
Looking back on those days now, she could see no shadow on their calm
brightness. She had had her childish troubles, I suppose, but she
forgot them all as she went on to describe to Christie her merry life
with her young cousins and her friends. Her aunt's death had broken all
those pleasant ties, and she had come to Canada, which must be her home
till she was grown up. When she should be of age, she told Christie,
and could claim the fortune her mother had l