ng--for Andrew's wife belonged to the missionars--"for weel ye ken
Thamas likes to be unner obligation to nane but the Lord himsel'."

"Lea' ye that to me, Anerew, my man. You 'at's rouch men disna ken hoo
to do a thing o' that sort. I s' manage Thamas weel eneuch. I ken the
nater o' him."

And sure enough he ate it up at once, that she might take the dish back
with her.

Annie went every day to ask after him, and every day had a kind
reception from Jean, who bore her no grudge for the ignominious
treatment of Thomas on that evening memorable to Annie. At length, one
day, after many weeks, Jean asked her if she would not like to see him.

"Ay wad I; richt weel," answered she.

Jean led her at once into Thomas's room, where he lay in a bed in the
wall. He held out his hand. Annie could hardly be said to take it, but
she put hers into it, saying timidly,

"Is yer leg verra sair, Thamas?"

"Ow na, dawtie; nae noo. The Lord's been verra mercifu'--jist like
himsel'." It was ill to bide for a while whan I cudna sleep. But I jist
sleep noo like ane o' the beloved."

"I was richt sorry for ye, Thamas."

"Ay, Ye've a kin' hert, lassie. And I canna help thinkin'--they may say
what they like--but I canna help thinkin' that the Lord was sorry for
me himsel'. It cam' into my heid as I lay here ae nicht, an' cudna
sleep a wink, and cudna rist, and yet daurna muv for my broken hough.
And as sune's that cam' into my heid I was sae upliftit, 'at I forgot
a' aboot my leg, and begud, or ever I kent, to sing the hunner and
saivent psalm. And syne whan the pain cam' back wi' a terrible stoon, I
jist amaist leuch; an I thoucht that gin he wad brack me a' to bits, I
wad never cry _haud_, nor turn my finger to gar him stent. Noo, ye're
ane o' the Lord's bairns--"

"Eh! I dinna ken," cried Annie, half-terrified at such an assurance
from Thomas, and the responsibility devolved on her thereby, and yet
delighted beyond expression.

"Ay are ye," continued Thomas confidently; "and I want to ken what ye
think aboot it. Do ye think it was a wrang thocht to come into my
heid?"

"Hoo could that be, Thomas, whan it set ye a singin'--and sic a
psalm--'O that men would praise the Lord for his goodness?'"

"The Lord be praised ance mair!" exclaimed Thomas. "'Oot o' the mooth
o' babes and sucklin's!'--no that ye're jist that, Annie, but ye're no
muckle mair. Sit ye doon aside me, and rax ower to the Bible, and jist
read that hunner and saive