.--Jean, my shune!"

"Hoot, Thamas! I've jist cleaned them," screeched Jean from the kitchen
at the second call.

"Fess them here direckly. It's a jeedgment on ye for sayin' worship cud
bide better nor the shune."

Janet brought them and put them down sulkily. In another minute the
great shoes, full of nails half an inch broad, were replaced on the
tired feet, and with her soft little hand clasped in the great horny
hand of the stonemason, Annie trotted home by his side. With Scotch
caution, Thomas, as soon as they entered the shop, instead of taking
leave of Annie, went up to the counter, and asked for an "unce o'
tobawco," as if his appearance along with Annie were merely accidental;
while Annie, with perfect appreciation of the reticence, ran through
the gap in the counter.

She was so far comforted and so much tired, that she fell asleep at her
prayers by the bedside. Presently she awoke in terror. It was Pussy
however that had waked her, as she knew by the green eyes lamping in a
corner. But she closed her prayers rather abruptly, clambered into bed,
and was soon fast asleep.

And in her sleep she dreamed that she stood in the darkness of the same
peat-moss which had held Thomas and his prayers all the night long. She
thought she was _kept in_ there, till she should pray enough to get
herself out of it. And she tried hard to pray, but she could not. And
she fell down in despair, beset with the terrors of those frightful
holes full of black water which she had seen on her way to Glamerton.
But a hand came out of the darkness, laid hold of hers, and lifting her
up, led her through the bog. And she dimly saw the form that led her,
and it was that of a man who walked looking upon the earth. And she
tried to see his face, but she could not, for he walked ever a little
before her. And he led her home to the old farm. And her father came to
the door to meet them. And he looked just the same as in the old happy
days, only that his face was strangely bright. And with the joy of
seeing her father she awoke to a gentle sorrow that she had not seen
also the face of her deliverer.

The next evening she wandered down to George Macwha's, and found the
two boys at work. She had no poetry to give them, no stories to tell
them, no answer to their questions as to where she had been the night
before. She could only stand in silence and watch them. The skeleton of
the boat grew beneath their hands, but it was on the workers and