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diff --git a/42093.txt b/42093.txt deleted file mode 100644 index aec3e29..0000000 --- a/42093.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8263 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Morag, by Janet Milne Rae - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: Morag - A Tale of the Highlands of Scotland - - -Author: Janet Milne Rae - - - -Release Date: February 14, 2013 [eBook #42093] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MORAG*** - - -E-text prepared by sp1nd, Eleni Christofaki, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustration. - See 42093-h.htm or 42093-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42093/42093-h/42093-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42093/42093-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - http://archive.org/details/moragtaleofhighl00raemiala - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -MORAG: - -A Tale of the Highlands of Scotland. - - - - - - - -New York: -Robert Carter and Brothers, 530 Broadway. -1875. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - I. - - _The First Morning in the Glen_ 5 - - II. - - _Blanche Clifford_ 19 - - III. - - _Morag's Home_ 37 - - IV. - - _The Fir-wood_ 52 - - V. - - _A Discovery_ 75 - - VI. - - _Kirsty Macpherson_ 104 - - VII. - - _Morag's Visit to Kirsty, and How It Came About_ 140 - - VIII. - - _The Gypsies At Last_ 157 - - IX. - - _Vanity Fair_ 205 - - X. - - _The Kirk in the Village_ 219 - - XI. - - _The Loch_ 244 - - XII. - - _The Empty Hut_ 274 - - XIII. - - _Back in London_ 288 - - XIV. - - _Visit to the Fairy_ 306 - - XV. - - _A Ride in the Park_ 318 - - XVI. - - _The Borders of the Far-off Land_ 331 - - XVII. - - _Morag's Journey into the World Beyond the Mountains_ 348 - - - - -MORAG - - -I. - -_THE FIRST MORNING IN THE GLEN._ - - -DO you know the joyous feeling of opening your eyes on the first morning -after your arrival among new scenes, and of seeing the landscape, which -has been shrouded by darkness on the previous evening, lying clear and -calm in the bright morning sunlight? - -This was Blanche Clifford's experience as she stood at an eastward -window, with an eager face, straining her eye across miles of moorland, -which undulated far away, like purple seas lying in the golden light. -Away, and up and on stretched the heather, till it seemed to rear itself -into great waves of rock, which stood out clear and distinct, with the -sunlight glinting into the gray, waterworn fissures, lighting them up -like a smile on a wrinkled face. And beyond, in the dim distance, hills -on hills are huddled, rearing themselves in dark lowering masses against -the blue sky, like the shoulders of mighty monsters in a struggle for -the nearest place to the clouds. For many weeks Blanche had been -dreaming dreams and seeing visions of this scene, as she sat in her -London schoolroom. "And this is Glen Eagle!" she murmured, with a -satisfied sigh, when at last she turned her eyes from the more distant -landscape, and climbing into the embrasured window of the quaint old -room in which she awoke that morning, leant out to try and discover what -sort of a building this new home might be. A perpendicular, gaunt wall, -so lichen-spotted that it seemed as if the stones had taken to growing, -was all that she could see; and under it there stretched a smooth grassy -slope, belted by a grove of ancient ash-trees. A pleasant breeze, -wafting a delicious scent of heather, came in at the open window, and -played among Blanche's curls, reminding her how delightful it would be -to go out under the blue sky; so she ran off in search of her papa, that -she might begin her explorations at once. - -Mr. Clifford, Blanche's father, was very fond of sport, and generally -spent the autumn months on the moors, either in Ireland or Scotland. -Hitherto his little motherless daughter had not accompanied him on any -of his journeys, but had been left to wander among trim English lanes, -or to patrol the parade of fashionable watering-places, under the -guardianship of her governess, Miss Prosser. This year, however, Blanche -had been so earnest in her entreaties to be taken among the hills, that -her father had at last yielded, and it was arranged that she should -accompany him to Glen Eagle, where he had taken shootings. Miss Prosser -looked on the projected journey to the Highlands of Scotland as rather a -wild scheme for herself and her little charge, having no special -partiality for mountain scenery, and a dislike to change the old -routine. But to Blanche, the prospect was full of the most delicious -possibilities; the unknown mountain country was to her imagination an -enchanted land of peril and adventure, where she could herself become -the heroine of a new tale of romance. The "History of Scotland" suddenly -became the most interesting of books, and the records of its heroic days -were studied with an interest which they had never before excited. In -the daily walks in Kensington Park, on hot July afternoons, Blanche -Clifford wove many a fancy concerning these autumn days to be; but in -the midst of all her imaginings, as she peopled the hills and valleys of -Stratheagle with followers of the Wallace and the Bruce lurking among -the heather, with waving tartans and glancing claymores, she did not -guess what a lowly object of human interest was to be the centre of all -her thoughts. - -On the evening of the 9th of August Blanche stood with her governess on -the platform of the Euston Station, ready to start by the crowded Scotch -mail. Mr. Clifford having seen to the travelling welfare of his dogs, -proceeded to arrange his little party for the night. The shrill whistle -sounded at last, and they were soon whirling through the darkness on -their northern way. The long railway journey was broken by a night's -rest at a hotel, which Blanche thought very uninteresting indeed, and -begged to be allowed to go on with her papa, who left her there. After -the region of railways was left behind, there was a journey in an old -mail-coach, which seemed to Blanche to be at last a beginning of the -heroic adventures, as she spied a little girl of her own size scaling a -ladder to take her place in one of the outside seats, to all appearance -delightfully suspended in mid-air. She was about to follow in great -glee, when she was pulled back by Miss Prosser, and condemned to a dark -corner inside of the coach, where a stout old gentleman entirely -obstructed her view. Neither was Blanche a pleasant companion; she felt -very restless and rebellious at her unhappy fate, and every time the -coach stopped and she was allowed to put her head out of the window for -a few precious minutes, she cast envious glances at the happy family -whose legs dangled above. - -The coach stopped at last to change horses at a low white inn, and -Blanche's delight was great to recognise her father's open carriage -waiting to take them to Glen Eagle, which was still many miles distant. -The change was delicious, Blanche thought as they were driven swiftly -along the white, winding road, round the base of hills higher than she -had ever seen, through dark pine forests, which cast solemn shadows -across the road, along sea-like expanses of moor, stretching out on -either side. Blanche was lost in wonder and delight at those first -glimpses of the mountain-land of her dreams. Her geographical inquiries -were most searching, and her governess had to acknowledge ignorance when -her pupil wished to identify each hill with the mountain-ranges depicted -on a map-drawing, which Blanche had made in view of the journey. They -were still several miles from their destination, when a heavy white -cloud of mist came coiling round the hills, creeping along the lower -ridges of rock as if it started to reach the top, like some thinking -creature possessed with an evil purpose. At first the mist seemed only -to add an additional charm to the wild landscape in Blanche's eyes. - -"O Miss Prosser!" she exclaimed, in great glee, "isn't it so pretty? It -seems as if the fleecy clouds that live in the sky had come to pay a -visit to the moors, and were going to take possession of everything." - -"Why, Blanche, how fanciful you are! It is nothing more nor less than -that wretched wetting Scotch mist one hears of. Come, child, and get -into your furs. How thoughtful of Ellis to have brought them. Commend me -to Devonshire and muslins at this season of the year," said Miss -Prosser, as she drew the rug more closely around her, and shrugged her -shoulders. - -The mist was creeping silently over the valley, and coming nearer and -nearer, till at last there seemed hardly enough space for the horses to -make their way through, and Blanche thought matters looked very -threatening indeed. Seating herself by Miss Prosser's side with a -shiver, she said, in a frightened tone, "I do wish papa were here. -These clouds look as if they meant to carry us right up with them. Don't -you begin to feel rather frightened, Miss Prosser?" - -When her governess suggested that the carriage should be closed, Blanche -felt rather relieved on the whole, and becoming very quiet and -meditative, finally fell fast asleep, curled up on one of the seats, -from whence she was carried by her father, when the carriage reached its -destination. She never thoroughly awoke till the bright morning sun came -streaming in at the curtainless, deep mullioned window of the old -Highland keep where she found herself. - -Attached to the shootings of Glen Eagle was a half-ruinous castle, which -Mr. Clifford had put into a sort of repair, fitting up a part of the -building for the use of his household, though there was still many an -unused room, dim with the dust of years, among the winding passages and -cork-screw stairs. In old times it had been a fortified place, and -Scottish chieftains had reigned there, and from its grey towers kept -watch and ward over the strath, where were scattered the dwellings of -the clansmen. It stood in the heart of the glen, rearing itself grim and -gaunt and grey, surrounded by a massive wall, which had once been for -defence, but was ruinous now, and pleasant turf sloped down from the -castle, and flourished along its cope. - -Though so long untenanted, there were still some remains of its ancient -furnishings, which the Highland lord on whose land it stood left -unmolested, in honor of the home of his ancestors. In the large -dimly-lighted entrance-hall, there hung many relics of the olden time. -Dirks and claymores that had done deadly work long ago, were beautifully -arranged in various patterns, on the dark panelled walls; numberless -trophies from the glen were ranged round--stately stags' heads with -branching horns, and outspread wings of mountain birds; and a fox too, -whose glass eyes seemed to leer as cunningly as the original orbs when -they cast longing glances at the feathered inhabitants of the farm-yard. - -Blanche had descended the broad staircase, and now gazed timidly round -at these strange ornaments of the ancient hall. She felt as if she could -not endure the leer of the fox one minute longer, and catching a glimpse -of the pleasant greensward through the great door, which stood open, she -darted out. The mountain breeze had a reassuring effect, and Blanche -felt safe and happy again, as she stood gazing on the fair scene, in -which the bleak and the beautiful strangely blended. - -To the left of the castle, on banks which sloped towards the river, were -masses of feathery birk-trees, with their white crooked stems gleaming -in the sun, and through the net-work of green Blanche could catch -glimpses of the river as it took its winding way through the glen. On a -sunny, upland slope, rising from the other side of the river, there were -some corn-fields waving, which were only now yellowing for the late -harvest. - -To the right there stretched a great pine forest, with the dark green -spires of fir fringing the horizon; and down in the valley there gleamed -a sheet of water, lying like a looking-glass framed among the heather. -The mist of the previous evening had all cleared away, and the golden -sunlight streamed on hill and glen, showing the tracks of the little -winding brooks, making the white stones gleam, and the water that -rippled through them sparkle like diamonds, lighting up the bright green -patches on the hills, which seemed so alluring in their sun-lighted -hues, that Blanche did not guess how treacherous they might sometimes -prove for unwary feet, and longed to reach them. Here and there a little -cottage seemed to grow out of the heather, scarcely distinguishable but -for the white lime under the brown thatch, and the blue smoke which -curled from its tiny chimney. - -The little English maiden gazed in ecstacy on this scene, so new and -strange to her. A delicious feeling of adventure and freedom kept -singing at her heart, as she scampered off round the grey old keep in -search of her papa, for without a companion her happiness was -incomplete. She knew well what she meant to do. Into each of these tiny -cottages she should like to peep, all the bright green places she wanted -to explore, and those gleaming sheep-roads in the heather seemed to have -been made expressly for her. Wherever little English feet could tread, -her father had promised that she might go, and she felt very sure -that her feet would be quite able for anything so pleasant. Her -castle-in-the-air was quite outrivalling in proportions the one that -towered above her, when she heard a voice which brought her quickly back -to real life, with its rules, its proprieties, and its lessons. - -"Miss Clifford, this cannot be permitted. Ellis tells me that you have -dressed without her assistance, escaped from your room, and nowhere to -be seen; and after hunting through endless stairs and passages, I find -you here, without your outdoor things, and with boots that were meant -for civilized life. I knew what would happen; no kind of discipline can -be kept up in this wild, lawless place." - -Blanche was too exuberantly happy at the moment to be damped by any -rebuke. - -"O dear Miss Prosser! I'm so sorry you've had to look for me. I really -couldn't rest in bed. I'm sure it must be quite late, besides; I felt so -wide awake. Has papa had breakfast yet, I wonder? I'm in search of him -now. He promised to take me to the hills, and I want to begin at once." - -"My dear child, what are you talking about? Your papa has been gone for -hours. This is the famous 'Twelfth,' you know. He started at sunrise, I -believe, with several gentlemen who arrived yesterday. The barking of -the dogs awoke me, and as I was unable to close an eye afterwards, I got -up, and have been busy helping Ellis to make a schoolroom pleasant and -habitable for us." - -"Papa gone!--papa not to be back till evening! How could Ellis be so -cruel as to let me sleep! I wish I had heard the barking of the dogs," -burst forth Blanche, in grief and dismay. - -All of a sudden the glen grew dim to her eyes, and the hot tears came -raining down. Miss Prosser began to act the part of a comforter, and to -make suggestions of breakfast and a pleasant walk in the afternoon when -lessons were over. But Blanche would not be comforted; the proposal of a -walk seemed a mockery to her, when she remembered the adventurous -rambles which she had been planning. She followed her governess with -reluctant steps, casting wistful glances at the moorland as she passed -into the dark hall, where the old fox seemed to leer more cunningly than -ever, as if he were enjoying her disappointment. - -"Now, Blanche, dear, haven't I contrived to make our new abode look -wonderfully homelike? Ellis and I have had quite a hard morning's work, -unpacking and arranging, I assure you." - -A knot rose in poor Blanche's throat as she looked blankly round. There, -sure enough, she could see, through her tear-dimmed eyes, an exact -reproduction of the London school-room, which she hoped she had left far -behind. On the wall hung the familiar maps and black-board, and the -table was covered with the well-known physiognomies of the school-books -of which she had taken farewell for many a day. Every trace of the glen -was effectually excluded; a low window looked out on the green slope, -and a rising knoll of grass almost shut out the sky. - -"I had such difficulty in selecting a room," said Miss Prosser, with a -satisfied glance round her; "but I think I have made a happy choice. -Ellis found one at the other side of the castle, which seemed habitable -enough, but it looked out on that dreary moorland, so I avoided it." - -"How can you call it dreary, Miss Prosser? It is the most glorious, -beautiful land I ever saw. Do take a window that looks on it. But I'm -sure papa never meant me to have lessons--I shan't; I can't really stay -indoors; I shall go out and seek papa;" and Blanche finished with a wild -burst of tears, while Miss Prosser sighed over her naughty pupil. - -It is very plain to see that Blanche was by no means a perfect little -girl; and as we follow her, we shall be obliged to acknowledge that she -was wilful and wayward often enough. But we are not going to make a -catalogue of Blanche's faults; they will peep out at intervals, and -stare out occasionally, as little girls' faults are apt to do, and not -theirs only; so that we must quite shut our eyes, if we are not to see -them. We need not do that, but with open eyes--though true and kind as -well as open--we shall follow Blanche through these autumn days, and see -what they brought to her. - - - - -II. - -_BLANCHE CLIFFORD._ - - -IN one of the southern counties there stood a stately English home, with -silent halls and closed gates, awaiting the time when Blanche Clifford -should be of age. It had been her birthplace, though she never -remembered having seen it. Her young and beautiful mother had died there -on the Christmas Eve when Blanche was born, and her father had not cared -to revisit it since. Even his baby-daughter had been only a painful -reminder of his loss, and he had left her in his great dreary London -house, with a retinue of servants to wait upon her, and had gone away -for years of travel in many lands. - -During Blanche's helpless infant years, she had been carefully nursed by -a faithful old soul, who had been her mother's nurse when she was young. -Mrs. Paterson, or Patty, as Blanche always called her, was guardian, -nurse, friend, and playmate all in one. She romped with her little -charge till her old legs ached again; sang songs and ballads to her -with unwearied fervor in her old quivering voice, which, though thin, -was still true, and Blanche thought it the sweetest voice in all the -world. - -The old nursery which they inhabited underwent wonderful and various -transformations during those early days. Now it was the sea where she -bathed, or her dolls sailed, in stately ships of varied manufacture, -into their haven on the rug; sometimes it was the Zoological Gardens, -and Patty became the bear, receiving Good Friday buns, and every -available cupboard contained a ravening animal. And when Blanche got -wearied with her romps, she would coil herself on Patty's knee, and the -hours till bedtime would pass all too quickly, as she listened to -delightful stories, which never grew old, of the time when mamma was a -little girl. - -But these pleasant old nursery days had passed away as a tale that is -told, long before the time when our story begins. Dear old Patty was -struck down by painful illness, and had to leave her little lamb in -strangers' hands; and now Miss Prosser reigned in her stead. Then -lessons had begun. Blanche's governess, being a skilled instructress of -youth, was disturbed to find her little pupil sadly backward in all -branches of education; for of actual lessons she had none while under -Patty's care. Her acquirements consisted in being able to read her -favorite story-books, and to repeat and sing an unlimited number of -songs and ballads, for many of which she had found notes to suit on the -grand piano that stood in the deserted white-draped drawing-room, where -she and Patty used to resort for their walk on wet afternoons. - -We shall not linger over the years that elapsed between Miss Prosser's -coming and our introduction to her and her pupil. We should only have to -tell of long days of school-room routine, when Blanche at last got -fairly into educational harness, and came to know many things which it -was right and proper that she should know. She could tell a great deal -of the geography of several countries, was quite at home among the -Plantagenets and various other dynasties, could repeat an unlimited -number of French irregular verbs, and knew something of the elements of -more than one science. - -When Mr. Clifford, after years of absence, at last ventured to return to -his deserted home, it was something of the nature of a surprise to find -an eager, loving little woman's heart awaiting him, and he rejoiced -over his child as over a new-found treasure. And though Blanche never -remembered having seen her father, yet he had always been her cherished -ideal. Constantly she had dreamt of him by night, and talked of him by -day; and her favorite occupation was to write a letter to papa ever -since she had been in the pot-hook stage of that acquirement. His return -home was the greatest event of her life, and brought a brightness into -it that was unknown before. It is true that she did not see much of him, -even when he was at home; for the hope of an hour's play and prattle -with him, in the precious after-dinner hour, was often disappointed by -the presence of gentlemen friends, who would talk politics, and discuss -other dark and uninteresting subjects, till Blanche at last glided away -in a disconsolate frame of mind, and went to bed with a disappointed -heart. Occasionally, however, she had her papa all to herself, and these -were precious, never-to-be-forgotten hours. Sometimes a half-holiday was -granted, and she went for a ride in the Park on her pretty little white -pony, Neige, and these were always memorable happy occasions. But every -light has its shadow. After having known the pleasure of being with her -father, Blanche pined for him when he was absent, and looked forward -longingly to the time when she should be quite grown-up, and able to be -his companion always. - -These autumn days in the Highlands, Blanche had hoped to spend entirely -with her father. She did not guess how engrossed he would be in sport, -nor that her governess thought it wise and well to provide the means for -a few hours of lessons, daily. She took her place among her schoolbooks -with a smouldering sense of wrong and grief in her little breast, which -did not get extinguished by an hour's bending over an open "History of -England." Indeed, the prospect of committing the Wars of the Roses to -memory, seemed to promise to turn out as lingering a process as the -triumph of the White Rose, recorded in English annals. Blanche looked -wistfully round, in the hope of finding some pleasant distraction, some -trace of the mountain-land which she could not forget that she had -actually reached at last, though certainly her present surroundings did -not suggest it. - -A pleasant breeze that swept in at the open window was the only mountain -element that could not be excluded from this school-room, which had -suddenly followed Blanche to the Highlands, and held her captive. The -window was on a level with the ground, and a grassy knoll intercepted -the view beyond; there was nothing really to do or see anywhere, so at -last Blanche gave herself languidly up to her lesson, thinking she was -the most ill-used little girl in all the world. She was gazing absently -at a map of England opposite, in a lazy search after Tewkesbury, when -she noticed a shadow flit across the sunlighted wall, but before she had -time to turn her head, it had vanished, and Blanche again betook herself -to the battle of Tewkesbury, with a strong effort of attention. -Suddenly, as she happened to look up from her book, to fix a fact in her -memory, by repeating it aloud, she saw standing at the window, not a -shadow this time, but a real flesh and blood little girl, gazing -intently at her. A brown little face peeped out from among a mass of -tangled, raven-black, elf-like locks, and a pair of keen dark eyes -rested on Blanche, with admiration and wonder in their gaze. The little -figure was arrayed in a tartan dress of the briefest dimensions, which -hung in fringes, and displayed brown bare arms and legs, well-knit and -nimble-looking. After Blanche's first gasp of astonishment at so -strange and unexpected an apparition, it occurred to her that the image -could probably give some account of itself, and she was wondering what -would be the most suitable mode of address, when, as if divining her -idea, off the creature darted, round the grassy knoll, and out of sight. -Blanche sprung to the window, and looked excitedly round to see if she -could possibly follow. The window was close to the ground, and her foot -was on the sill, ready to start off in pursuit, when just at that moment -in walked Miss Prosser. - -"Why, Blanche, what are you about? You look quite excited, child!" - -Blanche's first impulse was to confide to her the cause of her -excitement, but, on second thoughts, she resolved not to reveal it. To -her, the sudden apparition of the little elfish-looking maiden was quite -a romantic adventure; but she felt doubtful if it would appear in the -same light to her governess, who frequently objected to Blanche's -friendly advances to the little London flower-girls, and her delicate -attentions to crossing-sweepers. Moreover, Blanche had a vague terror -lest a pursuit of the little unknown might be set on foot, not of such a -friendly character as her's was meant to be, so she resolved to keep -her own counsel. Still the vision of the weird-looking little maiden, -whom she had caught devouring her with great soft eyes, like a gentle -timid animal of the forest, kept haunting her. What did she want? where -did she live? she wondered. Perhaps she might not have any home. She -looked very ragged, certainly, and very poor she must be, for she wore -neither shoes nor stockings, were the reflections that actively coursed -through Blanche's brain, as she narrated the Battle of Tewkesbury to her -governess, who had just reason to complain of a very absent-minded -pupil. - -When the hour for the afternoon walk arrived, it did not seem quite so -tame and unattractive as it had done to Blanche in the midst of her more -ambitious morning plans. She was by no means the broken-hearted, -ill-used person which she fancied herself a few hours before, as she -tripped gaily down the broad, flat, grass-grown steps of the old -court-yard, and stood again on the soft turf, waiting for Miss Prosser. -Presently she spied a familiar friend coming towards her, in the shape -of a great black retriever. He came wagging a vigorous welcome to his -little mistress, whom he was quite overjoyed to see after his long and -depressing journey, in company with the pointers and setters. He had -indulged in the most unfriendly feelings towards the whole pack, but -being muzzled, he was not able to give them a bit of his mind, as he -would fain have done. - -"Well, old fellow, and how are you? I believe you've been all over Glen -Eagle already, and know every bit. I wish I were you, Chance. You may be -glad enough you can't speak, old dog--though you sometimes look as if -you would very much like to; for if you could, you would be sure to have -lessons, and, instead of scampering about the hills, you would have had -to tell Miss Prosser all about the Battle of Tewkesbury," said Blanche, -laughingly, as she returned his warm welcome. - -Chance was a great friend of Blanche's, and had been presented to her as -a compensation for her banished dolls. His upbringing had, however, -caused her much more anxiety than that of her flaxen darlings. He had -been a terribly troublesome baby, and developed a frightful bump of -destructiveness. He took so very long to cut his teeth, and was always -helping on the process by using various appliances in the shape of -boots, gloves, and muffs. But at length his partiality for these, as -articles of consumption, somewhat abated, and he developed instead the -useful faculty of carrying them, and restoring them to their owners, -generally with much reluctance, but withal in a sound condition. He -possessed various other accomplishments, which Blanche had taken pains -to teach him, but they were of a more striking than graceful character, -it must be allowed. He could shut a door, which feat he performed with -his two great paws, with a terrific bang, to the utter detriment of the -paint and polish, not to speak of the nerves of the household. His -manners were still, even at mature age, sadly wanting in repose, and -when he was in society, Blanche never felt quite comfortable as to what -he might do next, so very gushing was he to his friends, and quite -alarmingly demonstrative in another direction towards strangers. As he -stood on the castle steps with his little mistress, he spied a kilted -native, at some distance off, and was preparing to pounce upon him, when -he was collared by Blanche. Then it occurred to her that she might be -able to get some information from this Highlander about the subject -which was still uppermost in her mind--the mystery of the little -window-visitor; but Miss Prosser just at that moment emerged with -finished toilette, all ready for the promised walk. - -On returning from the walk, Blanche wandered in among the old -ash-trees, and seating herself on a lichen-spotted stone, she resolved -to wait there, in order to catch the first glimpse of her father on his -way from the moors. The walk along the dusty high road, by Miss -Prosser's side, had by no means suited Blanche's adventurous plans for -the day. But to-morrow it would be different, she thought, resolving -that she should awake very early in the morning, and as soon as the dogs -began to bark, she would go out and join her papa, and he would be sure -to allow her to go with him. - -Presently she heard her father's voice, and saw him coming sauntering -along the avenue of birch-trees which led to the castle. Running forward -to meet him, she said eagerly, "O papa! you will take me to-morrow, will -you not? I do want so very much to get upon those glorious hills." - -Blanche stopped suddenly, for, behind her father, she caught sight of a -man, staring intently at her, whom she felt sure she had never seen -before. He was a dark, keen-looking man, with iron-grey hair, a smooth -face, and heavy eyebrows, which met on the straight ridge of his nose. -He was tall and spare and agile-looking, dressed in shepherd-tartan, and -across his shoulder one or two game-pouches were slung. He seemed -rather taken by surprise when Blanche suddenly emerged from among the -ash-trees, and now he stood seemingly absorbed in examining the trophies -of the day's sport, with which a pony by his side was laden; but he was -really surveying the little girl by a series of keen glances. - -"Why what an enterprising little puss it is, to be sure!" replied Mr. -Clifford, laughingly. "You shall certainly go to the hills, but we must -first try to find a pony, seeing Neige is not within reach. Look what a -grand day's sport we have had, Blanchie," and taking her hand, Mr. -Clifford, led her to where the pony stood, laden with the game. - -Blanche gazed horror-struck. The only dead creature she had ever seen -was a pet canary, on which a stray cat had designed to sup, when the -delicate morsel was taken from between the feline teeth, and had -received a burial worthy of the historical Cock Robin. But here were -more birds than she could count, as beautiful, and perhaps as lovable, -as the canary of pathetic memory, killed, not by stray cats for their -suppers, but by her own kind papa and his friends. There they hung in -masses, with their bronze feathers shining in the sun, the speckled -wings that flapped so merrily in the morning, hanging limp and listless -now, the little heads downward, and the tiny beaks and eyes half open, -just as they had been fixed in their death agony. - -"This is my little daughter, Dingwall," said Mr. Clifford, turning to -the man standing alongside, whom Blanche had noticed. "She would give me -no rest till I brought her to see your Glen, and now she actually wants -to go to shoot with us." - -"Oh no, papa! indeed I don't--not now," broke in Blanche, in a tone of -distress, and, glancing at the gamekeeper, she saw him still looking at -her with a queer smile on his thin lips. Whether it was from his -connection with the dead spoil, or from something in his face which -repelled her, Blanche made up her mind that she did not like the keeper. - -Presently he untied one of the brace of grouse, and lifting a wing under -which the cruel death-wound was visible, he held it up, saying, "Maybe -the leddy would be likin' to hae a wing for her hat: I've heard o' the -gentlefolk wearin' sic things; but 'deed it's but few o' them we hae -seen this mony a day." - -"Oh no! please not. I should not like to have a wing at all," said -Blanche, clasping her hands in a beseeching attitude. - -"Why, pussy, what is the matter? Am I not to be forgiven for starting -before you were up this morning? Never mind; we shall beg Miss Prosser -for a holiday to-morrow, and you shall go to the moors, mounted on a -little Shetlander." - -"It is not that, papa. I'm afraid I shan't want to go to the moors any -more now. I think it must be very dreadful. These poor killed birds! how -can you stand and see them all die, papa?" - -"Well, I can't say I should like to make a microscopic inspection of -their dying moments. After the aim is taken and the shot fired, the fun -is over." - -"But, papa, how can you shoot those happy birds flying in the air, and -not doing any harm?" - -"Why, goosey, for the same reason as you knock down your nine-pins--for -the sake of sport, to be sure," replied Mr. Clifford laughing at the -distressed face of his little daughter. - -"Come and shut up this little philosopher, Major," he continued, turning -to one of his guests, a kindly-looking old gentleman, who had come -sauntering up and joined them. "She is quite shocked at the monstrous -cruelty we have been guilty of to-day. I begin to feel quite like the -Roman Emperor you were telling me of the other day, Blanche; only flies -were his special partiality, were they not?" - -"Ah! depend upon it, Blanche has been having a course of Wordsworth," -said the Major, as he shook hands. "Is it not he who says-- - - 'Never to blend our pleasure or our pride - With sorrow to the meanest thing that lives?' - -But I shouldn't have thought you had arrived at the Wordsworthian stage -yet--eh! Miss Blanchie?" said the kindly old gentleman, as he looked -smilingly at the distressed little damsel. - -But Blanche was in no mood for joking just then; she glided away towards -the castle, and, finding her way to her room, she sat down at the window -from which she had got her first glimpse of the glen. - -The bright morning light had all vanished now, and the hills looked grey -and solemn in the gathering twilight. A great silence seemed to have -fallen on the moors. Blanche could hear no bleating of sheep, no cry of -the moor-fowl, no merry whirring of wings; and, to her fanciful little -brain, it seemed as if the valley were mourning for its dead, for the -little birds that would never sleep on the heather again, or mount to -the sky with the returning sun. - -And as Blanche sat thinking in the gathering darkness, she got among -those crooked things that cannot be made straight by any theories of -ours, those mysteries which we must be content to leave to the wise love -of Him who has told us that not a sparrow falls to the ground without -the knowledge of that heavenly Father who had watched over this little -girl always, counting her of more value than many sparrows. - -Blanche was not sorry to have her reveries interrupted by her maid Ellis -coming into the room, bringing lights with her. And as she laid out the -pretty white frock and blue sash, in which Blanche was to be dressed for -the evening, she said, "Well, missie, and how have you enjoyed your -first day in the 'Ighlands of Scotland?--more than I've done, I hope? -There's cook raging, fit to make one's life a burden about all those -birds to pluck. She says it will just be game, game, right on now, till -one feels ashamed to meet a bird." - -"Oh! hush, Ellis. Please don't speak to me about those birds. I cannot -get them out of my head. It does seem so very sad." - -"Why, Miss Blanche, you're as bad as cook. For my part, I think they're -uncommon good eating." - -"It isn't that, Ellis; but only think how happy they all were this -morning among those hills, and now--I wonder how papa could do it! It -does seem so cruel." - -"Come now, missie, that's what I won't stand to hear noways--the master -called cruel! A more kinder 'arted gentleman don't step. He wouldn't -hurt a fly--that he wouldn't. You'll be a callin' my old father a -murderer next, because he's a butcher, I suppose, missie?" - -"Oh! that's quite different, Ellis," said Blanche, apologetically. "But, -to be sure, what lots of killing there is! It does seem very dreadful, -when one thinks of it." - -"Well, missie, you don't think it dreadful to eat a mutton-chop when you -are hungry, I'll warrant." And this retort seemed quite unanswerable at -the moment; so Ellis had the last word, as the last curl was adjusted, -and her little mistress descended to join her father and his guests in -the drawing-room. - -Blanche watched wistfully for an opportunity of a quiet talk with her -papa; she had so many things that she wanted to say to him. There was -still a secret hankering in the bottom of her heart to go to the moors, -for she could not bear to think of another day without him. But the -time came to say 'Good-night' before any opportunity for a private talk -offered itself, and Blanche went to sleep after her first day in the -Highlands with a disappointed heart. - - - - -III. - -_MORAG'S HOME._ - - -ON the rocky ledge of a hill overlooking the Glen, there was perched a -little hut, which seemed as if it had huddled itself against the rugged, -grey crags for protection, and stood on its morsel of grassy turf -trembling at the wild scene around. The mountains, which from the valley -looked serene and blue, reared themselves above the tiny white shieling -in dark towering masses, and the river seemed like a silver thread as it -took its winding way through the strath. - -On the same Christmas Eve as Blanche Clifford was born in her sheltered -English home, another little girl had come into the world in that rocky -eyrie among the mountains; and Morag Dingwall, too, was left motherless -from the hour of her birth. Her father was gamekeeper at Glen Eagle; the -hut had been built by his grandfather, who, in his day, ruled over the -realms of deer and grouse in the glen; and it had once been a -better-cared-for home than it was in these later days. Careful fingers -had striven to repair the ravages of the wind and rain, for the little -shieling was mercilessly exposed to both; the shelter the great gray -rocks offered being a treacherous one, and its foundation damp. There -had once been an attempt made to delve a _kailyard_ out of the -unfruitful soil, and the turf in front of the cottage was kept smooth -and trim. But the present possessor of the hut did not seem to care to -make the most of his barren, rocky home; he merely grumbled about it -from time to time to the land-agent, the only representative whom he -ever saw of the Highland lord who owned the Glen. But the factor thought -that such a great strong fellow as Dingwall might mend his own roof, -while the keeper thought that such a great rich fellow as the laird -might give him a new roof, and a new house too; so year after year the -rain had come drip, drip, through the porous roof on the earthen floor, -ever since Morag could remember, till she had got quite used to it, and -to a great many things besides. - -The keeper was a strange man, and had led a strange life in his early -days, the people of the Glen said. When a lad he had suddenly left Glen -Eagle one winter, and he appeared only to have returned to take his -father's place, when the old man was laid in the little grave-yard on -the hillside. And a better gamekeeper could not have been found. He knew -every foot of the Glen by heart. He was the best angler in the country -side. There was no keener eye and no steadier hand in all Stratheagle; -he could spy the game at incredible distances, and knew every winding -path, each short cut, all deceptive bogs. People said that the little -Morag was the only human being whom Alaster Dingwall ever really loved. -He had reared his baby-daughter with his own hands, the kennels had been -her nursery, the dogs her playmates. As soon as she was able to toddle, -he had taken her to the moors, often strapped on his back, fast asleep. -Before Morag was seven years old she had become almost as hardy a -mountaineer as her father, going with him to the hills, carrying his -game-bag, trotting by his side, with her little bare feet among the -heather. She could handle an oar and cast a rod as well as most people; -it was her little deft fingers that _busked_ the hooks for the loch, and -did a great many useful things besides. Long ago the keeper had -entrusted the cares of housekeeping, such as they were, to Morag. It was -she who cooked, washed, mended, and kept things going in a kind of way. -Occasionally the father and daughter would start on an expedition to the -village, which was miles away, to make purchases at the merchant's shop, -and lay in a store of provisions before the period of snowing-up came -round. These were always red-letter days in little Morag's calendar. -Sometimes, though very rarely, there was an attempt made to replace the -little tattered tartan frock by a new garment, bought at the general -store. If you had happened to look into the hut on a winter evening, you -might have seen the father and daughter bending in perplexity over a -wooden table, on which were strewn the rough materials for Morag's new -frock. Great and many seemed the difficulties in the way, but at last -Dingwall would boldly put in the scissors, a big and rusty weapon used -for general purposes, and then the various stages of dress-making would -be gone through, clumsily enough to be sure; but in process of time, -Morag would stand in her finished garment, a more proud and happy little -girl than Blanche Clifford, in the latest novelty of her London -_modiste_. - -They were a very silent pair, this father and daughter. Often they would -wander whole days among the heather together without exchanging words, -or sit in the _ingle neuk_ by the fire of peat and pine in dumb silence, -while they cleaned guns or busked hooks, during the long winter -evenings. But notwithstanding his grim silence, and whatever he might -appear to the outer world, to his little daughter Dingwall he was always -kind, and she loved him with all the intensity of her still, Celtic -nature, and thought that he was the very best father in all the world. -During her short, solitary life she had never known anybody else, and -had hardly exchanged words with a living soul, old or young. Poor little -Morag had grown up utterly untaught. Like the pointers, her playmates, -she had grown very clever in some things--in mountain knowledge, in -dexterity of fingers and agility of limb. But there were wants in her -nature utterly unsupplied, chambers in her heart and soul into which -light had never penetrated. Made in the image of God, she had never -heard His name; redeemed by Jesus Christ, she knew not that such a One -had lived and died for men. Though she had grown in the midst of God's -glorious works, she did not guess that He who made the "high hills as a -refuge for the wild goats," who "sent the springs into the valleys which -flow among the hills," was the loving, pitying Father who had watched -her lonely wanderings, and would bring this blind child by a way that -she knew not, and make "darkness light before her!" - -Most of the children of Scotland learn at least to read and write at the -parish school, so Morag Dingwall's case was therefore an exceptional -one, and arose partly from her peculiar circumstances. She was an hourly -necessity to her father, who, besides, held in scorn other training than -that which loch and mountain afforded. The few books which the hut -contained led quite a fossil existence; they were stowed away by the -careful little Morag in the bottom of a great wooden box, her mother's -_kist_, in the depths of which all the valuables were buried to save -them from the inroads of the weather, when the pelting rain beat through -the broken roof, as it often did. Still, these buried musty books had a -great fascination for Morag; often she would peer curiously into them, -and long to know what they contained. She often wondered whether her -father understood their contents; she thought not; but so great was her -under-current of shyness that she had never ventured to ask him. Often -on a quiet afternoon, when her work was done, she would slip one of the -old books from its hiding-place, and lying down on the soft turf, would -ponder over its unknown characters, with an intense longing to -understand them. She felt sure that those closely-printed pages must -contain much that it would be delightful to know; but they were not for -her. With a sigh she would close the book, and gaze up at the fathomless -blue sky and the everlasting hills around her; and sitting at the feet -of the great, wonderful mother Nature, she learnt from her many things -that books could not have taught her. - -Morag had a true eye for beauty. It is sometimes said that mountaineers -do not appreciate the scenery amid which their lot is cast; and perhaps -it is so far true, that when the stern hard necessities of life -multiply, they may dull the sense of the wonder and glory of nature in -minds which were originally sensitive to it. With our little Morag, -however, this deadening process had not begun. She revelled in all the -beauties of her mountain home; with a poet's love she gave voices to the -brooks and woods, and peopled in her imagination the solemn pine forest, -the gloomy ravine, and the breezy mountain top. - -The Glen was many miles from the nearest parish, with its church and -school. There were dwellers in Glen Eagle who went to both, but the -keeper Dingwall was not one of them; and so it happened, strange as it -may seem, that little Morag had never been within a church, never heard -a sweet psalm sung, nor joined in a prayer to God. - -On the still Sunday mornings she would sometimes watch the straggling -dwellers in the valley wending their way along the white hilly road to -meet in the little village kirk. Morag often glanced wistfully towards -it, when she went with her father to make their purchases at the -merchant's shop, but then it was always closed and silent. How much she -wished that she could see it on the day when the people all gathered -there! She had a vague idea that the little company went to worship a -God who lived far, far away in the blue sky, where her mother had gone, -somebody told her once, long ago; and since then she had not cared quite -so much to go to the grave under the shadow of the hill, but loved more -than ever to gaze into the blue sky, and to watch the sunset glories -before the amber clouds closed upon the many-colored brightness of the -evening sky. - -Somehow Morag always felt more lonely on Sunday than on any other day. -In the long still afternoon, when her father went for a walk with the -dogs, she would wander down from the rocky shieling into the pine -forest, which was a great haunt of hers--the _fir-wood_, she always -called it. Sometimes she took one of the old books with her, and lying -down among the brown fir-needles, she would gaze longingly at the -unknown characters. She noticed that most of the church-goers carried -books with them, which she discovered to be identical with one of the -musty collection in the old _kist_: so a halo of mystery grew up round -this book, which seemed to belong to everybody; and Morag longed that -she could find the key to it as she looked up from the yellow pages of -her mother's Bible, and gazed dreamily through the dark aisles of pine -at the blue sky. - -Happy are we that this Book of Life is an open page to us! But if it is, -though an open, a dull listless page, if our hearts do not burn within -us as we read its words, then more unhappy are we than this lonely -untaught maiden, this seeker after God; for of such He has said, "They -that seek me early shall find me!" - -Morag had her code of right and wrong, which she held to with much more -firmness than some who have the knowledge of a living, present Helper, -along with the voice of conscience. She did many things every day that -were not always pleasant, because something within said, "I ought," and -avoided some things because that same voice whispered, "I ought not." - -In the cold, dark winter mornings, the "I ought" said, "Get up, Morag, -and light the fire, and make breakfast ready for the kennels; if you lie -in bed longer, you won't have time to do it before making ready your -father's breakfast, and you know that the dogs depend on you;" and the -little girl would jump out of bed, with her first footsteps on the -half-frozen rain that often lay on the earthen floor, and set cheerily -about her morning's work. - -The shooting season was generally the dullest time of the year for -Morag; her father being absent at the moors with the sportsmen all day -long, the little shieling was more than usually solitary during those -long autumn days. The shooting-party generally lived in the village inn, -so it was a great piece of news for the keeper and his daughter when -they heard that the new folks were to live in the castle of Glen Eagle. -It had been uninhabited ever since Morag could remember; she delighted -to wander round its grey walls, and to peep in at the narrow windows, -and had spun many a fancy in her little brain concerning its ancient -uses, and former inhabitants. She watched from afar, with great -interest, the preparations for the arrival of the new shooting-party; -and on the morning of the "Twelfth" she stood looking wistfully after -her father, as he set out for the castle, with the hired keepers and a -host of dogs, to meet the gentlemen on their start for the moors. - -The shieling seemed very lonely that day to Morag, when her work was -done, and she sat watching the shooting-party on the distant hill, where -her keen eye could still distinguish them, like dark, moving specks -among the heather. At last it occurred to her that she might go to the -old castle, and see what transformations the newcomers had wrought. She -felt quite safe from the fear of seeing anybody, while the gentlemen -were absent: it never struck her that they would not leave their home, -as she left her hut, silent and tenantless: so she sauntered down the -hill, and wandered among the feathery birch-trees which skirted the road -to the castle. She felt rather disappointed to find that everything -looked exactly the same, to all appearance, as it used to do; for it -would have been difficult to change the exterior of such a grim old -keep. - -After she had made an exploring tour round, she sat down on a grassy -knoll to rest, and then she noticed that the window opposite was opened -up, and the sash raised. A feeling of curiosity took possession of her, -and she thought surely there could be no harm of peeping in, when all -the people were so far away on the hills. She approached cautiously, and -looking in, she saw the loveliest little damsel that her eyes had ever -beheld, seated amid, what appeared to Morag, a perfect fairyland of -delight. Was there not a beautiful table covered with books in bright -gay bindings?--and this happy creature was bending over one of them, -with her golden curls falling around. For we know that Blanche Clifford -was at that moment in the thick of the Battle of Tewkesbury, in a very -disconsolate frame of mind. Morag saw that she had been unobserved, and -lingered about the grassy knoll, thinking that she might venture to take -another glimpse of this wonderful interior; but this time the golden -head had been suddenly raised, and a pair of blue, dreamy eyes surveyed -her with astonishment. Morag gave a terrified glance round her, and then -turned and fled, with a beating heart, never slackening her pace till -she got beyond the castle grounds. - -By the time she had reached the shieling, Morag began to doubt her own -eyes, when the vision of the fair English maiden, with her wondering, -blue eyes, rose before her. She waited impatiently for her father's -return from the moors, in the hope that he might throw some light on the -matter; though when he did come she was much too shy to make any -inquiries. Supper was over, and Dingwall had taken his seat at the -_ingle neuk_ to smoke his pipe, while Morag sat cleaning a gun with her -tiny, but strong little fingers, as she silently pondered over the -castle scene, and at last came to the conclusion that the bonnie wee -leddy must have been one of the ghosts which were said to haunt the old -keep. Her father at last broke the silence by saying, between one of the -whiffs of his pipe-- - -"I'm thinkin' we've gotten the richt kin' o' folk this year, Morag. The -master's the best-like gentleman I've seen i' the Glen this mony a day. -It would be tellin' you and me, lass, gin he were the laird himsel';" -and Dingwall glanced grimly at one of the many standing grievances, the -porous roof of the hut. Morag's heart went pit-a-pat, for surely it -could not be a dream, and what she wanted might be coming soon; but -whiff, whiff went the pipe, and silence reigned for another quarter of -an hour, as Dingwall speculated whether Mr. Clifford might not even -bring his many suits before "the laird himsel'," and get redress for -some of his grievances. - -At last he said, as he laid down his pipe, "Eh, Morag! but I havena been -tellin' ye aboot the winsome bit leddy he's brocht wi' him. She cam -runnin' up til him, and he brocht her to tak' a look o' the birds, and -said, 'This is my daughter, Dingwall. She would give me no rest till I -brought her to Glen Eagle,'" narrated the keeper, repeating Mr. -Clifford's introduction, which had evidently gratified him. "She had -been wantin' to go til the moors," he continued, "but the sicht o' the -deid birds seemed no to her likin', and she ran off some frichtened -like. Ye're no sae saft, lass, I'm thinkin';" and Dingwall smiled his -grim smile, and relapsed into silence again. - -But Morag had heard all that she wanted. It was no vision, then, after -all, but a real, live, lovely maiden, of whom possibly she might catch -another glimpse if she had only the courage to approach the castle -again. She did not venture to tell her father that she, too, had seen -the winsome little leddy. Her extreme shyness and reserve always made it -an effort to tell anything that required many words, and she put all -her thoughts and reveries into the steel of Mr. Clifford's -double-barrelled gun. - - - - -IV. - -_THE FIR-WOOD._ - - -"WHAT a glorious day it is, Ellis! How I wish I could spend the whole of -it out of doors!" exclaimed Blanche, as she lazily stretched herself, -before making the supreme effort of getting out of bed. "You've no idea -how dreadful it is to be shut up for a whole morning in that horrid -schoolroom, with the 'History of England,' and that wearisome geography -book. I have got the boundaries of China, and ever so much, for my -lesson to-day. I'm sure I don't care to know how China is bounded. I -shall certainly never go there, on any account. Do you know, Ellis, the -Chinese are so cruel? They shut up women, and pinch their toes, and all -kinds of things." - -"La! missie; you don't say so?" exclaimed Ellis, getting interested, for -she delighted in the sensational. - -"Oh, yes; indeed they do. They are such horrid creatures! So ugly, too. -I've seen pictures of them. Do you know, Ellis, they actually wear -tails?" continued Blanche, gratified to see that her maid was interested -in her information. - -"Come now, missie, you'll be makin' them out to be regular animals, and -that I won't believe, noways," retorted Ellis, as she vigorously brushed -Blanche's long curls. - -"But, indeed, the Chinese do have tails. It's just the way they do their -back hair, you know, Ellis," replied Blanche in an explanatory tone, as -she turned to look out at the window. "Oh! what a glorious hill that is, -with its blue peak right away in the clouds! I wonder what is the name -of it? How nice it would be to know all the boundaries of Glen Eagle, -now--to be able to tell the names of every mountain, and to know which -was really the highest; for yesterday that dark hill looked much higher -than it does to-day. Don't you remember those soldiers we saw in -Devonshire, last year, Ellis? They were making a military survey, Miss -Prosser told me. How I should like to make a military survey! It would -be real work, you know, and I should go out in the morning and come in -at night;" and inspired by the grandeur of the idea, Blanche pirouetted -round the room, greatly to the disarranging of Ellis's careful -toilette, and finally she ran away down-stairs to join Miss Prosser. - -After breakfast, Blanche was moving away, in a disconsolate frame of -mind, towards the schoolroom. She looked longingly through the open -door, as she crossed the hall, but at length sat down to her books with -a resigned sigh. Miss Prosser had followed her, and stood at the table -smiling rather mysteriously, as she listened to her pupil's sigh. - -"You need not sit down to your lessons this morning, Blanche, dear, -unless indeed you are especially anxious to study. Your papa has -expressed a wish that you should have no lessons for a short time. I -must say I rather regret it, my dear Blanche; you are so behind; there -is so much ground to be gone over." - -With the last remark Blanche heartily agreed; but it was moorland, not -mental ground, which she was thinking of. She began to put away her -schoolbooks in an ecstasy of delight, while Miss Prosser continued-- - -"I have a slight headache this morning, and shall not be able to go out -to walk with you; but I have given Ellis orders to accompany you, as I -really cannot expose myself to the sun." - -"Oh, please, do let me go out all by myself, only this once? Indeed, I -shall not do anything foolish," pleaded Blanche. - -Miss Prosser seemed disposed to be yielding, and at length Blanche -started, accompanied by her dog Chance. She got strict injunctions not -to get into danger of any kind, and on no account to go beyond the -castle grounds; but this boundary line being quite undefined in -Blanche's mind, it gave ample scope for extensive rambling. - -Blanche felt quite in a perplexity of happiness when she found herself -under the blue sky, left entirely to the freedom of her will. It was the -first time in her life that she had been so trusted, and she thought it -felt like what people call "beginning life." She had crossed the bridge -that spanned the river below the castle, and now she stood between two -divergent roads, each threading their white winding way through -different parts of the Glen. So much did Blanche feel the extreme -importance of the occasion, that she had difficulty in making up her -mind which path to choose, and stood hesitating, till Chance, with a wag -of his tail, set out to walk along one of them, looking back at his -little mistress, as if he meant to say, "Come along; anything is better -than indecision: we're sure to find something pleasant in this -direction." - -The remembrance of the little window visitor was still uppermost in -Blanche's mind; but she had heard her father say that nobody except -their own servants lived within miles of the castle; so she concluded -the little girl's home must be very far away, and that there was little -chance of meeting with her in her rambles of to-day. Then she had seemed -so frightened, and ran away so quickly, that it was not likely she would -repeat her visit to the schoolroom window; indeed it was to be hoped -not, Blanche thought, since Miss Prosser would be the sole occupant that -morning. The little damsel, with her elf-locks, had already begun to -take her place in Blanche's imagination among the fairies and heroines -of her story-books--a pleasant mystery round which to weave a day dream, -when there was nothing more attractive within reach. But on this morning -were not Chance and she beginning life together, with all kinds of -delicious possibilities before them along this white winding road? At -every turn she came upon new wonders and treasures, and her frock was -being rapidly filled with a miscellaneous collection of wild-flowers, -curious mosses, and stray feathers of mountain birds. - -The road lay between stretches of moorland, which not many years before -had been covered by trees, but now only a gnarled stump, scattered here -and there, told of the departed forest. After Blanche had wandered a -long way, following the abrupt turnings of the hilly path, she noticed -that a shadow fell across the road, and looked up to see great trees all -round, thronging as far as her eye could reach, till in the depths of -the forest it seemed as dark as night; while in some parts the sunlight -struggled through, and shone, like flames of fire, on the old red trunks -of the fir-trees. Blanche, before she knew it, had already penetrated -into the forest, and stood awe-struck gazing down the great aisles made -by the pillars of pine rearing themselves high and stately with their -arching green boughs against the sky. The remembrance of a grand old -minster, where her father had taken her to church one Sunday in spring, -rose to Blanche's recollection; those wonderful trees seemed strangely -like the fretted columns among which she had stood that day. She had -heard her father say that there was no church within miles of Glen -Eagle, and she wondered why they could not come here to service on -Sundays. The choristers' voices would sound so beautiful, and the great -floor, covered with brown fir-needles, and the lichen-spotted stones -studded over it, would be much nicer than a pew. - -Blanche, as was her custom when she felt happy, sang snatches of songs -as she wandered on through the forest, stooping every now and then to -gather treasures from among the fir-needles. At last she sat down and -began to pick up some attractive-looking green cones, which had fallen -the last time the storm had swung the great fir-trees. And as she sat -there, absorbed in gathering cones, her voice went up clear and musical -through the arched boughs, as she sang, almost unconsciously, some -verses of a hymn which she once learnt-- - - "There is a green hill far away, - Without a city wall, - Where the dear Lord was crucified, - Who died to save us all. - - "We may not know, we cannot tell, - What pains He had to bear; - But we believe it was for us - He hung and suffered there." - -The unwonted sound echoed through the silent forest, startling a roe -that had strayed from its covert, and making some little birds lurking -among the boughs set their tiny heads to one side to listen to the new -song in their sanctuary. There was another listener to Blanche's hymn, -who felt as startled by the sound as the timid roe; but who had, -nevertheless, stood listening eagerly. When Blanche looked up from the -fir-needles, wearied with her search for the cones, it was to see the -little maiden, whom she had just been consigning to dreamland, leaning -against a tree. There she stood, more real than ever, with her little -bare feet planted among the soft moss, and her eyes fixed wonderingly on -the stooping little girl. Blanche sprang forward, dropping, as she went, -her lapful of gatherings. - -"Oh, please, little girl, do not run away this time. I was so -disappointed that you would not wait when I saw you at the window -yesterday. Only, perhaps, it was just as well, for Miss Prosser walked -in the minute after," added Blanche, who always took it for granted that -there must be a previous acquaintance with those who made up her small -world. - -The little native did not seem disposed for immediate flight on this -occasion, however; she awaited Blanche calmly, as if the fir-wood were -her special sanctuary. Blanche was standing near, when Chance, who had -been doing some hunting on his own account, finding the search after -cones not exciting enough, came running up to see what his young -mistress was about. Blanche sprang forward to meet him; knowing well -that he was the sworn enemy of all bare-legged personages, she dreaded -the result of a hasty interview with her new acquaintance. He bounded -past her, however, and running up to the little girl, he began to wag -his tail in quite a friendly manner, and received caresses in return. - -"Why, you and Chance seem quite friends," exclaimed Blanche, with a -feeling of relief, not unmingled with astonishment. "He is generally so -very naughty to strangers; he surely must have seen you before?" - -"No, leddy, I didna see him afore; but I'm thinkin' he kens fine, Morag -likes a' dogs," said the little girl, in a low, timid voice, as she -smiled and patted Chance. - -"Morag! is that your name? What a nice, funny name! But you must not -call me, lady. I'm only a girl about your own age, you see. My name is -Blanche--that means white in French, you know, and it suits me nicely, -they say, because I'm fair. But that isn't the reason I'm called -Blanche. It was my mamma's name," explained the little lady -communicatively, while Morag listened eagerly, as if she were drinking -in every word. - -"Do tell me where you live, Morag? Is it in one of the pretty little -houses on the moorland, that you can see from the castle? I'm so glad -I've found you again;" and the little fluttering hand was kindly laid on -the sunburnt arm. A light came into Morag's still face; she suddenly -lifted the white hand and kissed it reverentially. Blanche felt rather -embarrassed at so unexpected a movement, though it stirred her little -heart; and after a moment's pause, she said impulsively-- - -"I love you, Morag. I wish you would come and play with me. I'm so dull -all alone. What were you playing at, all by yourself here? Aren't you a -little afraid to stay in this dark forest all alone?" - -"I wasna playin' mysel'. I was only jist buskin' at the hooks, for the -loch," replied Morag, glancing towards a flat, lichen-spotted rock, -where the materials for her work were lying scattered about. And then, -as if reminded that she must be busy, she went and sat down to work. -Blanche followed, unwilling to leave her new-found friend, and curious -to see what kind of work a little girl, no bigger than herself, could -do. There, on the grey stone which served as Morag's work-table, lay, in -all stages of manufacture, wonderful imitations of variegated flies, to -entrap unwary fishes. Blanche thought them marvels of art, and glanced -with respect and admiration at the skilful little fingers which had even -now another in process of creation. - -"You must be very clever to make such pretty things, Morag. May I sit -and watch you at work, for a little? I have got a holiday to-day, you -see. Aren't holidays nice?" said Blanche, glowingly; then she remembered -that perhaps this little girl might never have any, and she felt sorry -she had said that, when no response came from her companion, so she -changed the subject immediately. - -"Who taught you to make those wonderful hooks, Morag? It must be so -difficult," continued Blanche, as she watched the little fingers busy at -work. - -"Father teached me when I was a wee bit girlie. It's no that difficult -to busk the hooks; maybe you would be liken' to try. It hurts the -fingers some whiles, though," she added, glancing at Blanche's slender -fingers. - -"Oh! thank you very much, Morag. I should like so much to try, if you -will teach me. My papa is going to fish in the loch one day soon, and it -would be so nice if I could really make a hook for him." - -Chance, who had been comfortably ensconced at Morag's feet, started as -if he heard footsteps, and Blanche looked up to see Ellis hurrying -towards them. - -"O missie! how could you ever wander so far into this wilderness, and -have me searchin' for you like this?" panted the breathless maid, with a -look of relief on her face at having found her strayed charge. - -"Oh, my! what have we got here, Miss Blanche? You don't mean to say -you've ben a sittin' all the morning with that creature?" burst forth -the flurried Ellis, as she caught a glimpse of Morag seated on the grey -rock. - -"A regular tramp, I declare! Miss Prosser would take a fit if she saw -you, missie. Come along, this instant," shrieked the excited maid. - -Blanche was by her side in a moment, whispering, with a face of -distress-- - -"Hush, Ellis! don't speak so loud. She will hear, and you'll hurt her -feelings. Besides, I'm sure she isn't a tramp--if that's anything bad. -She's such a dear nice little girl, and so clever. I'll tell you all -about her presently," added Blanche, nodding confidentially. - -"Well, you've got to come home this instant, missie. There's somebody -awaitin' for you," said Ellis, mysteriously. - -"Oh! then, it isn't Miss Prosser who thinks I've stayed too long," said -Blanche in a relieved tone. "Go on, Ellis, and I'll come after you in a -minute. I must first say good-bye to Morag." - -Ellis, thus commanded, good-naturedly obeyed, while Blanche went to -rejoin her new acquaintance, whom she found still seated silently at -work. - -"I'm so sorry I must go now, Morag, but I'll come back again to-morrow. -I shall find you here, shan't I? Good-bye, Morag; I must really run now, -or Ellis will be cross." - -She waited for some reply, but none came, only the soft eyes looked up -wistfully into her face for a moment, and the little girl went quietly -on with her work again. - -Blanche was soon at Ellis's side prattling about her morning -experiences, and trying to convince her maid of the irreproachable -respectability of her new acquaintance. But the smart Ellis shook her -head skeptically; she shared Miss Kilmansegg's opinion (of golden-leg -fame), that "them as has naught is naughty," and she would continue to -insist, in spite of Blanche's eloquent expostulations, that the little -bare-legged tattered native must necessarily be a dangerous tramp, the -off-shoot from a whole gang lurking near; and Ellis looked fearfully -around, as if out of every bracken might spring a gypsy, and felt sure -that had it not been for her opportune appearance on the scene, her -little mistress would certainly have been kidnapped. - -As soon as the strangers were gone a little distance, Morag laid down -her work, and gliding up to the old fir-tree where she had stood to -listen to Blanche's hymn, she leant against it, and shading her eyes -with her hand she gazed wistfully after them as they disappeared among -the pillars of pine. "The bonnie wee leddy, she's awa'. They'll no be -lettin' her speak wi' the like o' me anither time," soliloquised Morag, -who, like most solitary people, had the habit of speaking her thoughts -aloud when alone. "That gran' like woman thocht I was a tramp. I'm -thinkin' I'll look some like ane," she murmured, looking down with a new -feeling of discomfort on her tattered little garment. "I'll men' it up -some the nicht, though, and mak' it look a wee bit better afore the -morn. She said she would be back again. Who will the Lord be she was -singin' aboot, that died upo' the green hill? I never heard tell o' -Him. It surely canna hae been on oor ain hills here aboot," continued -Morag, as she gathered up the scattered materials for her hook-making, -and wandered slowly away towards her home among the crags. - -In the meantime Blanche had reached the castle, and discovered the -mysterious "somebody" who awaited her, of whom she could not persuade -Ellis to divulge anything. In the cool shadow of the grey tower there -stood, awaiting her inspection, a lovely little Shetland pony, one of -the blackest, roundest, daintiest of his breed. Blanche sprang forward -with a cry of delight. - -"Oh, what a little darling! You don't mean to say he is for me?" The -little fellow turned his bright black eyes on her, and shook his shaggy -mane, as if to say, "So you are my little mistress! Let's have a look at -you. I hope you are inclined to be pleasant!" - -Blanche returned his gaze by throwing her arms round his neck and -hugging him heartily, greatly to the amusement of the Highlander who had -brought him, and was standing by. - -"What lovely eyes he has got, hasn't he, Ellis? Do you know, they remind -me of"--Morag's she was going to say; but she remembered that was a -forbidden name. Presently she ran to find Miss Prosser, that she might -come and admire the new favorite. - -"He looks so perfectly good and quiet, quite like a dog. I'm sure I may -sometimes ride him alone, mayn't I, Miss Prosser?" - -"I shall never sanction such a step, and I cannot think that your papa -will consider it either wise or proper for you to ride alone," replied -her governess, shocked by the suggestion. - -"What's his name?" asked Blanche, turning to the owner of the pony, -anxious to change a subject which she saw had not met with approval. - -"Anything my little leddy pleases; she be not got any name to hersel -yet;" and turning to Miss Prosser, he said, evidently anxious to -establish the character of his late possession, "She's as quiet's a -lamb, leddy, and there isna a foot o' the Glen she doesna know as weel's -mysel'." - -But Miss Prosser shook her head incredulously under her sunshade, as she -moved away. - -"Nonsense, Blanche, you silly child! Don't you know that horse-dealers -are proverbial cheats? The animal is probably the greatest vixen under -the sun. Those small ponies are most dangerous and tricky always." - -But Blanche, nothing daunted by the alleged bad character of her new -favorite, set her little brain to work to find a name for him. As Miss -Prosser disapproved of any lady's name being bestowed on one of the -lower animals, the selection became more limited. After searching -through several volumes of history, ancient and modern, and various -volumes of lighter literature, with an assiduity worthy of a better -cause, her governess remarked, Blanche decided that, after all, no name -seemed to suit the little fellow so well as the one which had at first -suggested itself, but was set aside as being too commonplace, that of -Shag. So off she trotted to inform the little Shetlander that he was no -longer nameless, and to see what he was thinking of his new quarters. - -The next day, to Blanche's great delight, her papa announced that he was -not going to the moors, and meant to take his little daughter out for a -ride. The horses had been ordered round at twelve o'clock, and Blanche -spent the morning in aimless wanderings round the castle, wishing that -the hour for starting would arrive; a ride with her papa was such a rare -piece of happiness, that the prospect quite sufficed for her morning's -entertainment, without setting anything else on foot. - -At last a practical difficulty presented itself, which she had not -thought of before, and she ran off to find her maid to remind her that -her riding-habit had been left at home, for she remembered hearing Miss -Prosser say that there was no need of including it in the Highland -wardrobe, since the little Neige was to be left behind in his London -stables. - -"Well now, missie, did you never think of that till this time of day? A -pretty job it would have been for you if everybody else had been so -forgetful," said the maid, smiling, as she took from a drawer a pretty -new tartan riding-habit, all ready to wear. - -"There now, Miss Blanche, that's what has kept me so busy for the last -two days. I've just this minute finished runnin' it up. It's a queer -color for a habit, I must say, but it's the best thing to be found at -the village shop." - -"Oh! you dear good Ellis, how kind of you to make it in such a hurry! It -is such a beauty, much prettier than my dark blue at home. Don't you -think I might put it on now, just to see how it looks?" - -So the riding-habit was rather prematurely donned, and Chance with his -mistress were waiting in the hall some time before the little Shag and -his stately bay companion appeared in the court-yard. Blanche was -already mounted when Mr. Clifford emerged from the library with his -budget of letters ready for the post-bag. - -"What a regular Highland lassie it is, to be sure!" said he, glancing at -Blanche's gay-colored habit as he mounted his horse. - -"It is certainly most unsuitable," apologized Miss Prosser, who had come -out to see them start. "But it was really the only material procurable -in these uncivilized regions." - -"It's a first-rate attire--quite in keeping, I assure you, Miss Prosser. -Come along, Blanchie; you will quite charm the deer and the moor-fowl by -having got yourself up in their native tartan." - -On the riders went, soon leaving the shady birch-avenue far behind, and -getting among breezy moors. It was a perfect autumn day, the sky was -serene and bright, and a pleasant heathery perfume filled the air. -Blanche's long fair curls floated in the breeze, and her face glowed -with pleasure as she swept on alongside her father, the little -Shetlander cantering as fast as it could lay its short legs to the -ground, trying to keep pace with the swinging trot of the long-limbed -hunter. - -"Shag, as you call him, is quite a success, Blanchie," said Mr. -Clifford, as he reined his horse in at last. "I'm afraid he will prove -even a rival to Neige." - -"Oh no, papa; there's no fear of that; my heart is big enough to love a -dozen ponies. Shag is a perfect darling, though. He seems so good and -quiet, too; don't you think I might ride him alone, papa?" - -"Ride quite alone? I am not so sure about that, pussy. Don't you think -you'd feel like the damsel all forlorn. I think you must be satisfied -with Lucas when I can't come. Poor old fellow! he prefers his -carriage-box to his saddle nowadays, he is getting so asthmatic; but I -don't think I can trust you with anybody else." - -"O papa! please don't send Lucas with me; he's so old and stupid, and -wheezes so dreadfully; and he always says so solemnly, 'Take care -missie,' when we begin to go fast. I'd much rather wait till you can -come, if I mayn't go alone." - -As Blanche cantered on by her father's side, she suddenly remembered her -promise to meet Morag in the fir-wood, which she had forgotten in the -excitement of the morning. She was hesitating whether she should tell -her papa about her new acquaintance, and wondering if he would call her -a dangerous gypsy as Ellis did, when her thoughts were diverted by -coming within sight of a human habitation of some kind; the first they -had seen since leaving the castle, so Blanche viewed it with some -curiosity. She wondered whether all the cottages that studded the valley -looked as neat and pretty as this one, which stood in its little -fenced-in garden, growing out of the bleak moorland, where flourished -gooseberry and currant bushes, besides drills of cabbage and potatoes. -The late summer flowers were still gay and sweet, and creeping -rose-bushes grew on the white wall under the brown thatch, which looked -thick and trim, all studded over with thick, green moss as soft as -velvet. The little windows were bright and shining, and the tiny muslin -curtains looped up behind them looked spotless and dainty. - -"O papa! what a lovely little cottage; it looks quite like a doll's -house!" exclaimed Blanche. - -"It is certainly a wonderful abode to find in such a wild spot," said -Mr. Clifford, glancing at the well-kept garden. "The occupants, whoever -they are, have certainly contrived to make the wilderness blossom." - -Behind the cottage, and evidently belonging to it, was a little patch -of cornfield, that lay yellow and shining in the sun, quite ripe for -harvest; indeed it was partly cut down, though there appeared to be only -one reaper in the field. Blanche slackened her pony's rein to look at -the old woman who was bending over a sheaf which she had been binding, -with no other help than her frail trembling fingers. Attracted by the -unusual sound of passers-by, she looked up from her work, and caught a -glimpse of the little girl's face, who had lingered behind her papa, and -was looking pityingly across the old grey dyke on the lonely reaper at -her toilsome afternoon's work. "They'll be the new folk that's come til -the castle, I'm thinkin'. She's a richt bonnie bit leddy that, though," -soliloquised the old woman, as she shaded her quiet gray eyes with her -long thin fingers, and gazed after the riders. "May the Lord himsel' -keep her bonnie in His ain e'en, as she's fair til see;" and stooping -down, she lifted her hook, and went on with her work again. - -Blanche and her father soon left the pretty cottage far behind, as they -cantered on in the delicious breeze, which wafted all manner of pleasant -odors and thoughts to the little girl, who rode gaily on in the -sunshine; but it did not waft to her ears the prayer which had gone up -to God for her, that afternoon, from one of His true servants, the lowly -bent woman on whom the blue eyes of the little maiden had been so -pityingly cast. - - - - -V. - -_A DISCOVERY._ - - -THE day after Blanche's ride was very stormy. The peaceful Glen seemed -suddenly thrown into a wild tumult. Now and then a long low rattle of -thunder sounded along the mountains, and the great fir-trees creaked and -swung, making all manner of weird choruses among the aisles of pine. The -rain had fallen in torrents during the night, and there seemed still an -inexhaustible supply in the gray sheets of mist that hovered over the -nearer hills. The little mountain rills hurried white and foaming to the -river, which moaned and raged along the valley, carrying with it on its -wild way to the sea more than one wooden bridge which had been wrenched -from its frail moorings by the _spate_. It was a true Highland storm, -the first Blanche had ever seen, and she stood watching it with mingled -feelings of interest and disappointment. She knew well what she meant to -do with this holiday, if only the sun had kept its golden promises of -last night. But this storm had upset all her plans, and she was filled -with remorse at the thought of the neglected tryst in the fir-wood, and -felt out of sorts with herself and all the world. Her last hope of any -fun that afternoon departed as she stood in the old hall, and watched -her father and his guests get into their waterproofs and prepare to -start on an expedition to see the swollen river. She would gladly have -accepted an invitation, laughingly given by the old Major, that she -should join the party, but Miss Prosser had been quite shocked by the -suggestion. "It was improper at any time for a young lady to go out in -rain, and in a deluge like the present, quite out of the question," she -replied, from the side of the school-room fire, where she sat shivering. -Nothing was to be seen from the window, except the rain, which came -plash, plash on the soaking turf in a dreary monotone of dulness, and -Blanche contrived to make her escape while Miss Prosser had fallen into -brief, though sound slumbers. She took refuge in Ellis's society, whom -she found sewing busily in her room. But here things did not go to her -mind any more than in the school-room, for Ellis had taken the -opportunity of warning her little mistress that if she were ever found -'addressin' of that tramp' again, she would feel in duty bound to -inform Miss Prosser, nor could any coaxing of Blanche's persuade her to -promise silence. - -"No, missie; I'll not hold my tongue for nobody. My very heart came to -my mouth when I saw you talkin' to that creature, just as friendly and -unsuspectin' as if she'd been your very sister, and all alone in that -dismal wood, too. Depend upon't there's a whole gang o' them lurkin' -yonder. Have you never heard of them as kidnaps children, missie? Why, -they'd take you for the sake of your pretty curls, if for nothing else. -A nice endin' that would be for you, Miss Clifford!" and Ellis stitched -away in high indignation, as she dwelt on the alarming picture that she -had conjured up, while Blanche called to mind some of the stories which -she had read of gypsies who had run off with children. It seemed to her, -however, that any excitement would be preferable to a time of dulness -like the present; and she came to the conclusion that the kidnapped -children must have, on the whole, rather a nice time of it in the -greenwood, and feel sorry when they are recaptured by their anxious -relatives, and sent back to their school-rooms. - -Ellis went on stitching in dumb silence, feeling displeased that her -warnings seemed to be treated so lightly, and Blanche, finding these -circumstances far from lively, glided away. After roaming through the -winding passages and turret stairs, in the hope of finding some variety, -she lighted at last on a quaint, little room, which had evidently been -unmolested by charwoman or housemaid for many a day. Its dusty -desolation, however, quite suited Blanche's present disconsolate frame -of mind. She managed to undo the rusty fastenings of the narrow window, -and coiling herself into the deep stone embrasure, she looked dreamily -out on the moorland. The storm seemed at last to have almost spent -itself. Blanche could catch glimpses of the river, which still lashed -itself into wild white foam as it hurried along; but the sunlight was -shimmering upon it now. The wind had fallen, the great pine-trees -creaked and swung no longer, and the gray sheets of mist, which seemed -so stagnant a few hours before, were now slowly creeping from the hills, -and making way for the clear shining after rain. - -Blanche sat watching the changing landscape from her dusty nook, with -the pale sunlight glinting in upon her; and as she gazed, all the -discontented, restless thoughts seemed to vanish from her heart, -disappearing like the gloomy mists which had been shrouding the -pleasant hillsides. At last, after she had sat perched in her -watch-tower for several hours, she fancied she heard her father's voice -in the court-yard below, and she ran to meet him. Mr. Clifford was -standing with all his wet wrappings when she reached the hall. "O papa! -how very funny you do look! You are just as wet as Chance when he comes -out of the water." - -"Well, I'm wet enough, to be sure. But you should see what a wonderful -little specimen of the aborigines I've fished up, Blanchie. Come along, -and I'll tell you the tale while I warm myself." - -Blanche followed into the library with some curiosity. She had rather -hazy ideas of what the "aborigines" might mean, but she concluded that -it must be some sort of trout taken from the river during the storm. - -The Major had returned home some time ago, and was comfortably seated in -his arm-chair by the library fire, so Blanche had to wait, with as much -patience as she could muster, till Mr. Clifford explained what had -detained him. The other gentlemen had gone on to see the _Linn_, he -said, but as he wanted to have some fishing next day, he thought it -would be well to see the keeper, and arrange the matter before returning -home. - -"I had been to the kennels once before," continued Mr. Clifford, "and -knew that the keeper lived not far from them. But I had no end of bother -in finding the place, though there it was suspended above me all the -while. I set out to go down the hill again, giving up the search in -despair, when I noticed that smoke came from a wretched shell of a hut, -perched on the corner of a crag. And this turned out to be Dingwall's -abode. I really wonder his Grace doesn't house his tenants better." - -"But what about the creature you fished up, papa?" asked Blanche, -fearing that the conversation was going take too abstract a turn. "You -promised to tell me, you know." - -"Ah! Blanche, I see you're all eyes and ears. Well, I'm just coming to -that now. I knocked at the door of this miserable erection, but no -answer came; and, as it was pouring rain, I did not feel inclined to -wait long, so I lifted the latch and looked in. Dingwall evidently was -not at home. Indeed, I should say he was quite as comfortable among the -heather as at his own fireside, in the circumstances. The rain was -dropping in from the roof in all directions, and it was evidently its -habit to do so, for it seemed to have excavated reservoirs for itself -along the earthen floor. The only soul in the hut was a wretched atom of -a girl, who, nothing daunted by this damp state of matters, was -splashing contentedly through the wet floor with her little bare feet, -trying to spoon away the water in the pools. Such a funny little thing -it was. You should have seen her, Blanchie, as she stood looking at me, -with her great eyes that peeped out from a tangled mass of black locks. -But I daresay I looked rather an alarming apparition in my waterproof -and umbrella, which I had the prudence to keep over my head. She looked -terrified for a moment, but she did not forget to make her rags touch -the soaking floor in a low curtsey, and offered in the sweetest voice to -run for her father, who was 'watchin' the _spate_,' she said. You should -have seen her, Blanchie; it would have quite suited your love for the -sensational." - -The portrait was photographic; Blanche's heart began to beat, for she -felt certain that she had seen her. - -"O papa! do tell me, did she really go away to the river to look for her -father? Do tell me, please," said Blanche, in eager tones. - -"Well, seeing that she didn't seem to mind the weather, and wasn't -likely to catch cold, I thought I might as well bring her here for a -little, since her father was not at home, and put her under old Worthy's -care, to be warmed and fed and generally comforted. I couldn't get her -to open her mouth again, but she followed me down the hill on my -invitation." - -"O papa! you don't mean to say that she is with Mrs. Worthy now?" and -without waiting for a reply, off Blanche bounded in search of the -housekeeper's room. And there, in front of a bright fire, seated in a -comfortable arm-chair, looking serenely happy in the midst of such -unwonted comforts, sat Morag. - -"It is really you! Of course I knew it was," exclaimed Blanche, rather -incoherently, as she sprang forward with a cry of delight. - -Morag rose with an eager bewildered look on her face, but she did not -speak, while the impulsive little Blanche threw her arms round the -tangled locks, and kissed the brown cheek. - -"O Morag! I'm so very glad to see you again. I've been so sorry all day -that I did not go to meet you in the pine forest yesterday. So, you are -the keeper's daughter," and a shadow of vexation stole across Blanche's -sunny face, for the remembrance of the dark, sinister-looking man whom -she had disliked rose before her, and she felt a pang of regret that he -should be connected with Morag. - -"I'm so glad papa brought you here, Morag. What a horrid house you must -have to live in! Papa says that it's a great shame of somebody--I forget -who. I do wish that the sun might always shine, and then you could sit -among those delicious pine-trees, instead of in-doors," and Blanche went -on in a silvery torrent of words, while Morag gazed at her, eagerly -listening in glad silence. - -Mrs. Worthy, who was seated opposite in her arm-chair, reading the -newspaper, viewed this scene through her spectacles with unfeigned -astonishment. - -"Bless my soul, Miss Clifford, you seem quite intimate like already! The -like of you for 'aving a warm 'art to all critters, I never did see," -said that worthy personage rubbing her spectacles, as if her old eyes -had deceived her. She was a kindly woman, and had been delighted to show -all hospitality to the poor little drenched vagrant; but to see Miss -Clifford on terms of seemingly old and intimate friendship was more than -she could comprehend. - -"Oh! it's all right, Mrs. Worthy. I know Morag quite well; we met in -the pine forest. But where is Ellis? has she been here?" And Blanche -bounded off in triumph to tell her maid that the dangerous little gypsy -of the greenwood was seated in the housekeeper's own private sanctum, -having tea and buttered toast, by her papa's special invitation too. -Ellis did not seem so much impressed by this wonderful piece of news as -Blanche expected, and loudly disapproved of the proposal which followed, -namely, that one of Blanche's dresses should be given to the little -damsel to replace the tattered tartan. - -"'Deed, missie, I'll not listen to such a thing for nobody. Your frocks -are all much too good for the likes of her, what I've brought here. If -you'd told me you were agoin' to clothe all the poor of the parish, I -might have brought something from your boxes of old clothes at home." - -"I'm sure you might find something, if you only wanted," pleaded -Blanche. - -At that moment Miss Prosser's voice was heard calling Ellis, and Blanche -overheard her governess say to the maid presently, "Oh, by the by, -Ellis, the master wants you to find a frock of Miss Clifford's for a -little urchin who has been picked up in the Glen somewhere, and appears -to be in a very destitute condition, from all accounts. You had better -select something suitable. I believe she is in the housekeeper's room -now; so you can go and see what she looks like. Have you anything that -will suit the creature, I wonder?" - -"Yes, ma'am. There's the crimson dress, that will do. Missie will never -wear it again." - -"Well, I dare say not, though certainly it does seem much too good for a -child of the description. Where is Miss Clifford? Have you seen her? -I've been looking for her for the last half hour, but I can't find her -anywhere." - -"She's just going to get dressed for the evening, ma'am," replied Ellis, -evasively, not indicating that she was within call, nor hinting at her -little mistress' previous knowledge of Mr. Clifford's protegee; and -finally Miss Prosser retreated to perform her own toilette. Blanche was -hovering about in a great glee, having heard the result of the -conversation. - -"Oh! you dear good Ellis! So you are going to find a dress for Morag -after all? I knew you would. Do let me take it to her." - -The crimson garment was at length forthcoming, in the midst of many -grumblings on Ellis's part; and Blanche, accompanied by her maid, set -out in procession towards the housekeeper's room. They found Morag -alone; she had risen from her seat in the big arm-chair, and was now -standing at a small table on which the housekeeper's books lay. An -illustrated edition of the "Pilgrim's Progress" was lying open, and when -Blanche walked in, Morag was looking intently at one of the pictures. -She started and closed the book with an almost guilty look, and when she -caught a glimpse of Ellis, her little brown cheek flushed all over, for -she had not forgotten her loud-spoken suspicions regarding her. Gliding -up to Blanche, she said softly-- - -"I'll need to be goin' hame, noo, leddy. Father will be back, and his -supper maun be ready; and there's a heap to do forby." - -"But you don't really mean to say, Morag, that you get supper ready, and -do everything? Why! where's your mother, or the servant?" - -Morag's eyes twinkled, and she laughed her rare merry laugh at Blanche's -look of astonishment. - -"We havena got no servant. I'm thinkin' they're no but for gentry. My -mother deid lang syne. I never min' upo' seein' her. There's no jist -terrible muckle work, except whiles, when the weet comes in, like the -nicht." - -"I should like so to go and see you, Morag. Do you think I may some -time?" asked Blanche, filled with admiration at the thought of the -usefulness of a little girl smaller than herself. - -"The floor is some weet the nicht, I'm thinkin'," replied Morag, -glancing doubtfully at Ellis. - -"Oh! but I didn't mean to-night. Perhaps one day soon, when the sun -shines, and your father is at the moors with papa," added Blanche, for -she had not forgotten the dark-looking keeper; and she did not think -that she should like to find him at home. - -Meanwhile, Ellis had been standing with the dress in her hand, listening -to the conversation. Her closer inspection of Morag rather softened her -towards the little native, with regard to whom she had been harboring -such dark suspicions. She began to make sundry signs, to the effect that -her little mistress should now proceed to present the dress. But -somehow, at this juncture Blanche seemed suddenly seized with a fit of -shyness. Morag certainly appeared to stand greatly in need of a new -garment, but still Blanche felt in doubt whether she would care to -receive one. She was so unlike any poor person she had ever seen--so -useful, so brave, so complete in herself. At last Ellis got tired of -waiting for Blanche, and unfolding the dress, she held it up with a -flourish and a toss of her head, saying-- - -"Now, little girl, Miss Clifford is kind enough to give you this -beautiful frock. See you say 'Thank you' for it, and take good care of -it too. I declare it looks as good as the day it was bought!" added -Ellis, casting regretful glances on the garment, as she laid it on the -table beside Morag. The little girl stood looking at the gift with -extreme astonishment for several minutes, and then, glancing at Blanche, -she went slowly up to her, and said in a low tone-- - -"Thank you kindly, leddy. But I would jist be spoilin' a braw goon like -that. It's no for the like o' me." - -"Oh! but indeed, Morag, dear, you must wear it. I don't think it a bit -too good for you to wear on week-days; but if you like you can keep it -for Sunday, you know. It used to be my church-frock, wasn't it, Ellis?" - -"Ay, maybe. But it's no for the like o' me. I dinna never gang to the -kirk forby,' added Morag, in a low, melancholy tone, as Ellis left the -room to discuss with Mrs. Worthy the strange little native who did not -seem to care for the grand frock, although she was in such rags. - -"I would like richt weel to ken what this bit bonnie picter is," said -Morag, as she turned towards the little table, on which the open -"Pilgrim's Progress" was still lying, and pointed to one of the -illustrations towards the end of the first part. Blanche had not read -the "Pilgrim's Progress," and she did not know what the picture meant at -the first glance. There was an expanse of dark rippling water, and -struggling through it were two men. One of them looked on the point of -sinking, while the other seemed to be trying to hold him up, and pointed -to a shining city, which was lying far away in the sun. Seeing how eager -Morag was to know what it all meant, Blanche began to feel interested; -after turning some pages, she said--"Oh! I see now. That town in the -light, far off, is heaven, and those men must be trying to get there, I -suppose. But I'll ask Mrs. Worthy to lend me this book, and shall try -and find out all about it before I come to the pine-forest next time, -Morag." - -"Ye'll be able to read a' books, I'm thinkin', leddy," said Morag, -looking wistfully at Blanche, as she glanced at the pages. - -"Oh, yes, of course, I can read any book that I care to read. But, -indeed, Morag, I'm not very fond of reading," added Blanche, in a -confidential whisper, as if the fact were a very shocking revelation. -"To be sure, I do like a few story-books very much, indeed; but then -Miss Prosser does not allow me to read many. I've got some delicious -story-books at home, in London. I wish I had them here, and I should -lend them to you, if you are fond of reading. I don't think I have -anything except those lesson-books here. The 'History of England' is -rather interesting sometimes, by the by. Perhaps you might like it. -There are lots of nice stories here and there. Miss Prosser says I like -to read them because they are stories, and not for the sake of the facts -and the dates, and I suppose that is very wrong," sighed Blanche, -penitently. - -Morag stood listening in silent wonder. The conversation had gone far -beyond her depth, poor little woman! and she was about to explain that -it was so, when Blanche continued-- - -"What books do you like best, Morag? I like fairy-stories much -best--something about dragons, and giants, and all that kind of thing, -you know." - -Morag's cheek flushed crimson as she replied-- - -"A' books look richt bonnie to me, leddy, but I'm no fit to read none o' -them." - -Blanche felt considerable astonishment at this disclosure. But, noticing -her companion's embarrassment, she tried to receive it unmoved, and -said, rather patronizingly-- - -"Ah! well, Morag, but you can do so many useful things besides." - -Morag smiled. Her quick perceptions detected Blanche's kindly attempt to -cover her embarrassment with a compliment. For now that the critical -eyes of the smart maid were withdrawn, she began to feel more at ease, -and at last ventured to ask a question, to which she had been very -anxious to get an answer since that morning when she stood listening to -Blanche's warblings among the pines. - -"Yon was a richt bonnie sang ye were singin' i' the fir-wood, leddy. -Will the Lord that died on the hill be ane o' the chieftains that used -to bide lang syne i' the castle?" - -"I'm sure I quite forget what song I was singing, I know so many. But I -don't think I do know one about a chieftain, though," said Blanche, -shaking her curls in perplexity. - -"It tellt aboot a good Lord that deed upo' a green hill, and suffered -terrible, I'm thinkin'. I heard a' the words ye were singin' richt plain -like among the firs." - -"Oh! I know now! Why, that isn't a song, Morag--it's a hymn. It was -Jesus Christ, of course, 'who suffered under Pontius Pilate, was -crucified, dead, and buried,' the Creed says, you know." - -This statement did not seem in any degree to diminish Morag's -perplexity, and presently she said-- - -"Maybe ye would jist say ower the bonnie words til me?" Blanche repeated -the hymn in her clear, silvery tones, and after she had finished, Morag -gave a little sigh as she said--"It's richt bonnie. I like weel to hear -ye tell't ower. Is't a real true story, leddy?" - -"Of course it's true, Morag. Jesus Christ died on the cross, you know. -But it's a very long time ago, in the Holy Land. You can find all about -it in the Bible. Ah! but I quite forgot," said Blanche, flushing in her -turn; and then, after a minute, she continued-- - -"Morag, I have thought of something. Would you like Miss Prosser to -teach you to read? I think I'll ask her. But she _is_ rather particular -about some things," added Blanche, sighing despondently, as if she -began to doubt the pleasantness of that arrangement; and presently she -exclaimed eagerly--"O Morag! I wonder if I could teach you to read? It -would be such fun! I would bring all my lesson-books to the pine forest, -and we would spread them on the flat grey rock, and I would teach you -everything that I know. Wouldn't it be nice?" and Blanche clapped her -hands with delight at the thought. - -Morag's face glowed with brightness as she listened to this proposal, -and she was about to make some reply when Ellis entered the room. She -came to say that Miss Prosser was already in the drawing-room, and that -she wondered very much what had become of Miss Blanche, and Ellis -insisted that she should come and get dressed without a moment's further -delay. Mrs. Worthy entered at that moment with a trayful of good things -for Morag; and Blanche, after giving strict injunctions to her little -friend not to go home till she had seen her again, followed Ellis to get -arrayed for the evening. - -The storm had quite vanished now, and the evening was bright and calm. -All the weird noises were silent, and a delicious breeze came stealing -across the moorland balmy with the breath of pine and birch, and all -manner of delightful, thymy fragrance. - -Mr. Clifford and his guests were sauntering up and down the birch-walk -near the castle, talking and smoking their cigars, when Blanche joined -them. - -"Well, pussy, so I hear you had already made the acquaintance of my -protegee? Mrs. Worthy tells me that you gave her quite a gushing -reception. How in the world did you foregather? Till this afternoon, I -certainly was not well enough versed in Dingwall's family history to -know that he had a daughter," said Mr. Clifford. - -"Yes, Blanche, dear, where did you meet the creature?" chimed in Miss -Prosser, coming, but not to the rescue. "It can only have been on that -morning when I allowed you to go out alone. And you know you promised -not to get into mischief of any kind. I wonder when you will gain the -desirable self-respect which will save you from making friends of the -most unsuitable persons, Blanche, dear!" added the governess, looking -rather severely at the little girl, who stood pondering whether she -should reveal the circumstances of her acquaintance with Morag, but she -had a vague fear lest the window-scene might compromise the -respectability of her little friend, in some minds, so she resolved to -hold her peace. Her father noticed her distressed face, and stroking her -curls, said, laughingly-- - -"Don't be ashamed of your new acquaintance, Blanchie. I assure you, Miss -Prosser, she is a most exemplary little savage. You should have seen her -at work in her hut to-day! I wonder if she is still in old worthy's -keeping. You might run and see, Blanche, and bring her here if she is. I -should like you to have a look of the odd little atom, Miss Prosser." - -"Is that the urchin you found sticking in the mud-floor, Clifford?" -asked one of the gentlemen, joining them. "She must be quite a natural -curiosity--a sort of fungus, I should imagine. Do let's have a look at -her." - -So Blanche was dispatched, rather unwillingly, to fetch Morag. She was -very glad to be allowed to go back to her again, but she could not help -feeling that it was rather a doubtful mission on which she had been -sent, and she wondered whether it was quite kind to bring the shy little -mountain maiden into the presence of so many strangers. - -Mr. Clifford and his party were standing together looking at a gorgeous -rainbow which had suddenly spanned the Glen when the children appeared -in sight. They came slowly along, through the feathery birk-trees, which -were all flooded by the delicate rainbow tints. A pretty picture they -made, Mr. Clifford thought, as he went forward to meet them among the -white stems. The fair, high-born child in her white shimmering dress, -with her graceful movements, her delicate, finely-cut features, her calm -white brow, and deep dreamy, blue eyes, and at her side the little dark, -keen Celt, with her black matted locks, her bright dark eyes, and her -short firmly-knit limbs. Blanche's arm was thrown lovingly around Morag, -and one of her long fair curls rested on the little brown neck of the -mountain maiden, who timidly surveyed the formidable group in front. -Blanche ran to her papa to whisper that Morag wanted to go home very -much now, to make supper ready for her father, so that she must not be -kept much longer, and might she ask her to come back to-morrow! Deprived -of her bonnie wee leddy's protecting arm, Morag felt very forlorn. The -whole party were now in view, and a very terrible array they seemed to -the little mountaineer. - -There stood Miss Prosser in gay flowing attire; and there were the -gentlemen whom she had watched from afar on their way to the moors; but -they seemed doubly formidable now in evening dress, as they stood -talking and laughing together. Even the bonnie wee leddy, since she has -glided to her papa's side, appeared again to have taken her place in an -exalted fairy region, and poor Morag felt alone, without prop or stay. -She seemed seized by a sudden panic, and, casting a bewildered glance -round about her, she turned and darted away at full speed through the -gleaming birch stems, and in a moment she was out of sight. - -"Bless my soul, what a droll little monkey!" exclaimed the old Major, -dropping his eyeglass. "I expect to see her climb a tree directly and -take to cracking nuts--eh! Blanche?" - -"Poor little Morag! she is so shy and frightened: that's just how she -did before. I'll tell you all about it afterwards, papa," whispered -Blanche, as she was about to dart off in vain pursuit of her scared -friend. - -"No, Blanchie, you must not follow her," said Mr. Clifford, calling her -back. "She did look very frightened, poor little atom! It's best to let -her go home. Take counsel from your sage nursery-rhyme, 'Leave her alone -and she'll come back, and bring her tails behind her.' Little Bo-peep -must have patience, you know. Besides, it's quite time for you to go -indoors, child," he added, as Blanche shivered. "Good night, darling! -Don't distress yourself about your little elfish friend; she will -doubtless turn up to-morrow." - -Morag did not halt in her sudden flight till she had got beyond the -castle grounds, and found herself once more on her solitary familiar -heath. Then she began to slacken her pace a little; and now that she had -time to ponder the matter over, she thought that perhaps, after all, it -was very foolish to run away as she had done. These grand ladies and -gentlemen did not mean to do her any harm; and surely she might have -trusted the bonnie leddy who had been so kind. Perhaps she might be -angry now, and would never come to the fir-wood, as she had promised to -do, thought Morag, ruefully. Still, she resolved that she would go every -morning after her work at the hut was done, and watch by the -lichen-spotted rock in the fir-wood, and perhaps one day she might see -her coming through the trees again; and though it seemed too good to be -true, perhaps she might be carrying some of those beautiful books, of -which Morag had caught a glimpse through the school-room window of the -old castle. - -Blanche's promise that she would teach her to read was the greatest -event of that eventful day, and the thought of it had kept singing at -Morag's heart; for a long time it had been the dearest wish of her heart -that she might understand the hitherto mysterious contents of the musty -old collection of books which lay buried in the depths of her mother's -big _kist_, and now at last there seemed a chance of that hope being -realized if she had not thrown it away by her foolish flight; and the -little girl sighed as she thought of the sad possibility. - -Morag had been sauntering on, lost in her own meditations, since she -felt herself at a safe distance from the castle. She had climbed halfway -up the steep hill which led to her home among the crags, when she turned -to see if she could discover any trace of her father on his homeward -way. - -The sky was cold and grey in the direction of the hut where Morag's -steps had been bent, but as she turned westward all was bright and -glowing, and Morag wondered that she had not thought of looking before, -for she loved cloud-land scenes, and had watched many a sunset and -sunrise from her home among the crags. It was one of those intensely -golden sunsets that come after storms. The clouds were clustering -gorgeous in their coloring, and changeful in their hues, and at every -moment they seemed to open vistas with brighter colors and intenser -lights within. And as Morag sat and watched the sky, she remembered the -picture which she had seen in the beautiful book at the castle. The -bright expanse round which the gold and crimson clouds were clustering -reminded her of the city lying in the light, in the picture. She thought -of the dark rippling water, and the two men who were struggling through -it, and looked as if they would be drowned. They must have been trying -to reach the shining city surely, and Morag hoped they got there all -safe, for the water looked dark and cold. - -At last the amber clouds slowly closed on the inner sunset glories, like -ponderous gates shutting out the dark night from a bright scene, Morag -thought, as she rose from the bank, and began to take her solitary way -to her rocky home. Presently she heard her father's whistle, and turning -round, she saw him climbing the hill behind her. She ran back to meet -him, and began eagerly to narrate her chronicle of this eventful -afternoon. - -The keeper had never heard his daughter so eloquent before, and he -listened with his most well-pleased smile to all that she had to tell -about her visit to the castle. How the gentleman had come to the hut, -and had taken her away; and how he carried a beautiful umbrella, and -held a bit of it over her head--the first time in her life she had been -under a canopy of the kind. And then the beautiful room she sat in was -duly described, and how the bonnie wee leddy had come to her, and been -so kind. When she came to that part of her story, in which truth -compelled her to tell that she had finished those delightful proceedings -by running away when she was brought before the dazzling company, she -was relieved to find that her father was not angry, as she feared he -would be. He only smiled, and said, "Ye needna hae been sae feert, -Morag, my lass. They wouldna be meanin' to tak' a bite o' ye; but maybe -they'll no think the waur o' ye for the like o' that;" and glancing -round, as they entered the dreary soaking dwelling, the keeper said, -smiling grimly, "Ye didna speir if he would tak' a seat, I'm thinkin', -lass? What said he aboot the hoose, Morag?" But Morag could not remember -that Mr. Clifford had made any remark on that sore subject; and -presently father and daughter relapsed into their usual state of dumb -silence, as they went about their evening occupations. - -At last Morag crept away to bed, and fell asleep, wondering whether she -should really see the wee leddy coming to meet her next morning at the -grey rock in the fir-wood, where she resolved she would daily keep her -tryst. During the night she kept dreaming that she was with the bonnie -wee leddy in dark, cold water somewhere, and that her arm was around -her, and the beautiful curls were all drenched with wet. She looked for -the golden city lying in the sun, but she could not see it anywhere, and -she began to feel very frightened in the dark, rippling water, when she -awoke to find the bright morning light streaming in at the little -blindless window of the hut, lighting up everything, and sending its -kind, warm rays on the damp earthen floor. - -Morag sprang out of bed, and was soon at her morning's work with a will. -She smoothed her tangled locks as well as the well-nigh toothless comb -would make them, and after mending a few of the rents in her tattered -garment, she looked anxiously down, in the hope that she did not look -like a tramp any more. Her father had told her that she was a foolish -lassie to have refused the "gran' goon" that had been offered to her; -but Morag did not think so, and felt perfectly satisfied with her own -garment, if only the critical eyes of the smart maid would not stare at -her so minutely again. - -The keeper had gone to the moors for the day, and Morag's morning duties -being over, she began to think of starting to keep her tryst in the -fir-wood, when she saw her father hurrying up the hill again. - -"Eh, Morag, lass! but I hae a gran' bit o' news for ye. The maister -wants ye to go outby wi' the wee leddy this afternoon; and whiles, to -tak' her by canny roads when she's ridin' on her sheltie. I'm thinkin' -you'll like that job, my lass. Ye may awa' til the castle as fast's ye -can rin; he said 'The sooner the better; my daughter is an impatient -little person.'" And, after this quotation from Mr. Clifford, Dingwall -hurried down the hill again, surrounded by the scrambling pointers and -setters, leaving Morag dumb with astonishment and delight. - - - - -VI. - -_KIRSTY MACPHERSON._ - - -MORAG was at length fairly installed as Blanche's companion in her -rides, and many a pleasant ramble they had together in the long bright -autumn afternoons. The little mountaineer was still very silent and -reserved; but her propensity for running away had quite vanished now, -and she could laugh at the shy follies of those first days of her -acquaintance with the little chatelaine. It must be allowed, however, -that the daily intercourse in no degree diminished the deep reverence -and admiration with which she regarded the bonnie wee leddy, who had -seemed such a fairy princess when she saw her first; rather indeed these -early feelings were deepening into that intense, undying devotion which -is one of the characteristics of her race, and one which has often made -them faithful to death towards unworthy, thankless heroes. Occasionally -the little pony Shag was left behind in his stable, while Blanche, with -her big retriever Chance, sallied forth to meet Morag, at the -trysting-place in the fir-wood. These afternoons were golden-letter days -in little Morag's calendar, for then the books were brought, and as she -lay among the soft moss, surrounded by the thronging pillars of pine, -with their roof of green, arched boughs, this child of the mountains -made her first entrance to that tower of learning, which, after all, is -only one of the many gateways to the great temple of knowledge. - -Blanche proved a wonderfully patient, though eager teacher, and never -was there a more earnest student than Morag. Still, on the whole, these -lessons, as yet, only brought disappointment. Her progress in the art of -reading was necessarily slow, and could not keep pace in any degree with -her desire to know. Her intercourse with the little English girl had -quite roused her from her torpid state, and the fragments of ideas which -began to dawn, set her mind to work in many wistful questionings. - -Blanche would often shake her curls in perplexity at her friend's -strange thoughts and queries; sometimes remarking afterwards to -Ellis--with whom Morag had now a recognized existence--"She is such a -queer little girl, Morag! She has such deep, long thoughts about -everything, and it seems to make her quite grave and sad when she can't -understand things we read. I'm sure I am always glad enough to skip the -difficult things, and hurry over to the nice, easy, pleasant bits of a -book." - -To our little Blanche, the world seemed as yet like a happy garden, -without any enclosure line, where she might enjoy herself as a butterfly -would, fluttering from flower to flower. It would be perfect happiness, -she thought, if she might wander from day to day without restraint, -hearing pleasant words, saying pleasant things, getting all the -enjoyment possible, while avoiding everything which seemed hard or -disagreeable. And the years to come, when she would be a grown-up lady, -having the freedom that she so longed for, lay in the dim distance like -the expected hours of a pleasant summer-holiday, with all kinds of -delicious possibilities folded in each. The world with all its wonders -seemed like a playroom to her, and the marvels of nature interested her, -just as playthings had done in the old nursery days. To her, nature had -never spoken in faint mysterious whispers of a beauty and glory higher -than its own, as it had sometimes done to the lonely little maiden in -her wild mountain home. Nor did Blanche understand, any more than Morag, -that the God whose voice is in the storm, who shapes the grass and -blanches the snow, is the same God who came to dwell upon earth; not -that He might rejoice and revel in the fair world which He made, but to -be its Saviour from the curse and the stain with which sin had defiled -it. - -Sometimes Blanche would recount with dimmed eye and flushing cheek to -her mountain friend stories of noble deeds or patient sufferings of -which she had read or heard; but there was one story with which Blanche -had been familiar from her babyhood, though it had never stirred her -heart nor had any interest for her at all, and she felt much surprised -and somewhat disappointed when Morag begged that the New Testament -should be her lesson-book. She seemed to look on Blanche's smartly-bound -volumes with great interest and reverence, but always brought with her -to the fir-wood the big old Bible with its musty yellow leaves, and its -smell of peat-smoke. After the lesson was over, which as yet consisted -in a recognition of the letters of the alphabet, or efforts to spell out -the easy words, Morag would beg Blanche to read a little to her; and as -the silvery voice flowed pleasantly on, she would listen with an eager -interest which surprised the reader, and in which she did not share. - -On Sunday afternoons it was Blanche's task to read a chapter of the -Bible with Miss Prosser; and rather a wearisome one she always thought -it. The verses seemed to her like a collection of puzzling phrases -strung together, and she was glad when the hour was past, and the book -restored to its shelf for another week. At church, too, she always -looked upon the Lessons as the most wearisome part of the service, and -rejoiced to hear the organ peal again, and the choristers' voices ring -through the aisles. But Blanche was really anxious to be helpful to -Morag, and it vexed her that there were so many things which she could -not explain to her little friend, who was so eager to learn and know -everything. - -One afternoon, when matters were in this state, the girls started with -Chance and Shag to have a long ride. Morag never seemed footsore or -tired, however far she walked, and nothing would persuade her ever to -mount the pony. Blanche renewed her entreaties each day that she would -ride for a little sometimes; but Morag would shake her head in a decided -manner, as she was wont to do, saying, quietly, "I'll no leave the -heather, leddy; my feet's ower weel acquaint wi't to be gettin' tired." -Sometimes she would recount in her low tones, as she trotted by Shag's -side, holding a tuft of his mane, walking exploits which seemed -marvellous to Blanche, as she gazed at the heathery heights so near the -sky, which the little brown feet had scaled, and she began to feel -ambitious to be able to perform similiar feats. "It would be such fun to -climb one of those hills to the very tip-top, quite alone by ourselves," -she would sometimes say. "I shouldn't tell Miss Prosser, you know, -because she would be sure to say it was out of the question. I should -coax Mrs. Worthy to give us a lot of sandwiches, and we would take a -bottle of milk with us, and that would be having a flask like papa. Oh! -it would be so nice, Morag; I really think we must set out the first -chance we can find." - -But Morag was scrupulously faithful to her post as guardian and guide, -and always loyally disapproved of any proposal that might meet with -disapprobation; and she had, moreover, a quiet power over the impulsive -little Blanche, which generally prevailed. - -The cavalcade had started this afternoon on the same road which Blanche -and her father took on the first day when they rode together in Glen -Eagle. The ground was not so quickly gone over on this occasion. There -were many objects of interest which Blanche wanted to examine, now that -Shag had not to be kept up to the swinging trot of her father's hunter. -Occasionally the little Shetlander got rather tired of such a loitering -pace, and would shake his mane, and give his tail a whisk, as if to say, -"Come on, my little mistress! This slow state of affairs is excessively -tiresome; let's have something lively;" and off they would start on a -sharp trot, leaving Morag far behind, but presently returning to her. - -Shag and his mistress had now started in one of these frisky fits, and -Morag seated herself at the roadside to wait till they should reappear -again. Left to her own meditations, she began to think of something -which Blanche had been reading to her yesterday in the fir-wood. She -would fain have heard more, but the little lady had closed the book with -a yawn, and stretching herself on the soft turf, said, impatiently, "O -Morag! I do wish I had my 'Illustrated Fairy Stories' here; I should be -so glad to read them to you, and I'm sure you would like them--they are -so nice;" and then she began, in glowing words, to tell one of them, and -Morag thought it very delightful, indeed; but still her thoughts would -wander back to a wonderful story which she had heard for the first time -that afternoon. Blanche had happened to read in the end of St. John's -Gospel, where we hear about Mary Magdalene finding the rocky grave of -the Lord empty, to her great wonder and grief, till she recognized the -dear familiar voice of the Master, who had risen again from the dead, -and drew near to comfort her. - -Morag had been able to gather from Blanche's reading a little about our -Lord's life on earth, and all the wonderful things which He went about -doing; and she knew that at last He had been killed by wicked men, and -laid in the grave still and dead; but from this story it would seem that -He was alive again; and Morag could not understand it at all. Often she -wandered into the little graveyard in the Glen, and among the worn mossy -headstones peeping from the long rank grass, which told the names of the -quiet sleepers below. Sometimes, too, she watched a little company of -mourners, with their sorrowful burden, wending their way along the white -hilly road; and when she went to see her mother's grave next time, she -would notice a fresh green sod somewhere near, and she knew that another -dweller in the Glen was laid there, in his long home, never to be seen -among them more. - -But this good Lord, who died on the green hill, and was laid in His -rocky grave, seemed to have come back to the world again to speak loving -words to everybody, as He had done before He was crucified. Could He, -then, be alive in the world now? Morag's heart gave a great throb when -she thought of it. Perhaps one day He might come to the hut and speak -kind words to her, as Mr. Clifford had done on that rainy afternoon when -she was so wet and miserable. Perhaps He might offer to get the roof of -the hut put right too, since the laird wouldn't do it, and even to give -her father a new house, which he wanted so much. But Morag thought, that -to hear His voice speaking beautiful kind words, as He used to do to the -people long ago, would be better than anything else; and as she thought -of it, her hope grew stronger every minute, that one day He might come -to the Glen, and she might see Him and hear His voice. - -Blanche came galloping back at last, her face all aglow with happiness, -and her long curls floating about her. - -"O Morag!" she cried, excitedly, "I want you to come and see the -prettiest little cottage I ever saw in my life, with delicious lumps of -green moss growing out of the brown roof, and pretty roses climbing up -the wall. Papa and I passed it before, when we rode this way, and we saw -such a nice old woman in the cornfield behind the house. She was tall -and stooping, and looked so very tired all alone at work among the -sheaves of corn. She looked up with such kind beautiful eyes when Shag -and I passed. I should like so much to see her again; but I've been -looking into the field, and she isn't there, and it's all bare now." -Blanche had been prattling on, not noticing Morag's flushed cheek and -perfect silence. "Did you ever see the cottage, Morag?" she continued. -"Do you know if the old woman really lives there, or anything about her? -Do you hear, Morag?" - -"Ay! I'll be whiles seein' her when I'll be passin' this road. It's -Kirsty Macpherson's hoose," replied Morag, in low, reluctant tones, as -if she were unwilling to volunteer any information on the point. Blanche -noticed that there was something wrong, and they went slowly on without -speaking, till they came to another winding of the road, and the cottage -in question came in sight. Blanche looked longingly across the old grey -dyke from the dusty road into the pleasant little garden, with its -sweet-smelling, old-fashioned flowers and herbs growing side by side -with the gooseberry and currant bushes shaded by one or two ancient -rowan-trees. Morag was evidently trying very hard to avert her eyes, and -kept steadily gazing into Shag's glossy mane, when Blanche exclaimed, as -if inspired by a new and pleasant idea-- - -"Look here, Morag! suppose we knock at the door, and ask the old woman -to give us some water to drink? that would be a good way to see her -again, you know; and, besides, I'm really thirsty, after my gallop. Do -let's go at once; it will be such fun." - -"Ye'll need to ask it yersel, then, leddy. I'll no darken the door," -replied Morag, with flushing face, and an expression about her mouth -which suddenly reminded Blanche that she was the daughter of the -sinister-looking keeper, under whose glance she had felt so strangely -uncomfortable on the evening of the first day in the Glen. She felt -puzzled and annoyed at Morag's reply; but she was a wilful little person -and loved to have her way at any cost. So she pulled up Shag, and -prepared to dismount, saying, rather impatiently, "Well, Morag, if you -don't wish to go, you needn't; though I really can't think why you -shouldn't want to see such a nice old woman But there isn't any harm in -my going to the door surely? and besides I'm really thirsty. You won't -come then?" added Blanche, who had now dismounted, and was gathering up -her habit as she moved towards the little rustic garden-gate. But Morag -made no reply; and taking hold of Shag's bridle, she went slowly on -along the road with a dogged expression on her face. - -The cottage door was ajar, and Blanche could see into the room at one -end, and there, seated at the low fireside in a high-elbowed chair, -quietly reading, she recognized the old woman whom she had seen in the -field binding the sheaf. The little girl knocked gently, but the moment -she had done so, she began to wish that she had not come, especially -when Morag seemed to be so opposed to her going. It was too late to -repent now, however. The old woman had heard her knock, and laying down -the spectacles on her open book, she rose to go to the door. She looked -at the little girl with the same placid face and kindly look in her gray -eyes as she had done across the dyke in the cornfield, and waited -quietly to hear what she wanted. Blanche stood silent for a few seconds, -feeling rather foolish, and forgetting in the confusion of the moment -the mode of address which she had previously arranged, but at last she -managed to gasp out nervously, "Oh! please, I was only passing this way -with Morag and Shag, and I felt rather thirsty, and thought perhaps you -would be so very kind as to give me some water to drink?" - -"That will I, my bonnie bairn. Jist ye step ben here," said the old -woman, smiling kindly. Blanche followed her, looking round this new -interior with considerable curiosity. There were only two rooms in the -cottage, the _but-end_ and the _ben-end_, as they are called in -Scotland. Within, as without the cottage, everything was beautifully -trim and neat. The floor of the room was earthen, but it was smooth and -dry, and looked quite comfortable. The tables and chairs were all of -clean white wood, and on the shelf above the table were ranged rows of -white and blue and yellow shining delf. The fire was on the earthen -floor, kept together by two blocks of stone; and on either side, in what -is called the _ingle-neuk_, there stood one or two little stools, and -near the big arm-chair, where the solitary inmate had been seated. - -Blanche had time to note all these surroundings while the old woman took -a pitcher and went to fetch some water. It was rather an exertion for -her now to go down the steep steps to the well, and indeed she had a -supply of water in the house which was meant to serve for the day; but -Kirsty always liked to give the best she had, and she went gladly to -fetch a draught of cool, clear water from the mountain spring for the -thirsty little maiden. Presently she returned, and setting the pitcher -on the earthen floor, she took a shining delf jug from the shelf, and -filling it she gently offered it to Blanche, saying, with a smile-- - -"Here noo, my bonnie lambie, is a drap o' cauld watter to ye. Ye're -welcome tilt. May ye get a lang draught o' the watter that He gies, -afore ye try a' the broken cisterns o' this warl.'" - -Kirsty's dialect was more difficult for Blanche to understand than even -Morag's. She came originally from that part of Scotland where a rough, -harsh dialect is spoken, almost as difficult for English people to -understand as a foreign language would be. Blanche, however, understood -sufficiently to make her reply eagerly-- - -"Oh! that is the water we read about in the Bible, is it not? I suppose -you are very fond of reading the Bible, and know all about Jesus Christ? -I do wish Morag had been here; you might have told her some of the -things she is so anxious to know. She's so fond of the New -Testament,--so much more than I am. She's such a nice little girl, -Morag. I'm sure you would like her if you knew her," added Blanche, -eagerly, on peace-making thoughts intent. "She is the keeper's daughter, -you know, and often goes out with Shag and me." - -The old woman, in her turn, had difficulty in understanding the little -English girl's rapid, silvery flow, and Blanche had again to explain -that the keeper Dingwall's daughter was waiting outside. - -"Alaster Dingwall's bairn, say ye? I hae heard tell she wasna an ill -bairnie, puir thing. She's ootby there, is she? I wad like richt weel to -tak' a look o' her. It's mony a lang day sin' I hae lookit intil her -faither's face. Weel div I min' upon the last time, though," continued -the old woman, with a sad look in her calm gray eyes. - -"She's at the gate with Shag; do come and see her," said the impulsive -little Blanche, forgetting how unwilling Morag had been to make any -advances to Kirsty. - -"Do you live quite alone in this cottage? Aren't you very lonely -sometimes?" asked Blanche, as she watched the old woman moving about -her solitary habitation. "I'll come back and see you again soon, if you -would like; and perhaps Morag may come in with me, next time," added -Blanche, in an encouraging tone. - -"'Deed, an' I'll be richt glad to see ye, my bairn, gin yer folk kens -ye're here, and doesna' objec. I'm thinkin' ye're fond o' a bit flouer, -like mysel," said the old woman, smiling, as she pulled a pretty yellow -rose from the wall beside the cottage door, where it had been carefully -fastened, to preserve it as long as possible, and gave it to the little -girl, who had stopped to admire it. - -Meanwhile, Morag and Shag were waiting on a shady bit of the road, a few -yards off. Blanche ran eagerly forward to meet them, whispering in an -excited tone to Morag-- - -"O Morag! you'll like her so much. She is such a nice, kind old woman; -and besides," she added, in a lower tone, "I think she knows all about -Jesus Christ--just what you are so anxious about. She's coming now to -talk to you; she knew your father once, she says, and wants to see you." - -The old woman came slowly along the road towards them, but Morag's face -wore a more dogged expression than ever, and she turned away from -Blanche, and began to plait Shag's mane in dumb silence. - -"So ye're Alaster Dingwall's dochter, my bairn," said the old woman, -slowly, as she looked at the little hot-cheeked girl. "Ye maybe dinna -ken auld Kirsty, but yer faither will min' o' her, fine. Will ye tell -Alaster Dingwall that Kirsty Macpherson is willin' to forgie him, though -he brocht sair trouble upo' her ance. But it's lang syne,--and we maun -forgie, as we hope to be forgien," and the old woman held out her long, -thin hand to Morag. - -The little girl glanced at her with a mixture of curiosity and surprise, -and her face worked nervously; but she gave no hand in return, and -preserved a dogged silence. - -Blanche wondered greatly how the good little Morag could ever have grown -so naughty all of a sudden, and there followed an awkward silence, only -broken by some manifestations of restlessness on Shag's part, as if he -thought it was more than time to start for home. At last Blanche thought -there was no use of waiting longer for any rift in the cloud, and going -up to the old woman she laid her little fluttering hand in the thin -fingers, saying, "Good-bye, Kirsty, and thank you very much for the -nice drink of water, and for this pretty rose. I'll make Ellis fix it -in my curls when I'm dressed for the evening. I shall come back to see -you again, at any rate," she added, with an emphasis on the personal -pronoun, as she mounted Shag, and turned to go, while Morag followed -silently, with downcast eye and lingering step. - -The old woman shaded her eyes with her long thin fingers, and stood -watching them till they were out of sight, and then she returned with -slow steps to the cottage. She sighed as she glanced round the room, -which a few minutes ago had been filled by the child's bright presence. -It seemed more solitary than usual now, Kirsty thought, as she looked -wearily round. "She said she thocht I maun be some lonesome. Sic a -bonnie bit blink o' a lassie! I wad like richt weel to see her agin. I -liket the look o' Alaster Dingwall's bairnie. Surely he couldna hae -pitten her agin me? She lookit some dour like, and wouldna speak ava'." - -Like persons who live much alone, Kirsty had the habit of thinking -aloud; and, indeed, her thoughts were so often with a living, listening -Friend, that the practice seemed quite a natural one. As she pulled out -her rough blue stocking, which she was knitting, and seated herself on -the doorstep, in the yellow afternoon sunlight, she continued--"If I -didna mistak that wee leddy wi her sweet tongue, she said that the bairn -was wantin' to ken aboot the Lord Jesus. Eh! Lord, but Thy thochts are -wonderfu' and Thy ways past findin' oor. Puir lambie! may the gude -Shepherd lead her til Himsel. It's a pity gin her faither has pitten her -agin me. I wad like to see the lassie, whiles. There's been nae bairn i' -the house sin he gaed away. My puir, lost laddie! fat's come o' him? O -Lord! I wad fain ken aboot the wanderin' sheep afore I gang hame mysel," -and the old woman covered her face with her withered hands, and rocked -to and fro in silent grief, at the memory of a life-long sorrow which -was ever present with her. - -In the meantime Blanche and Morag had been going on their homeward way. -The afternoon was beautiful as before, and the soft cool breeze made the -road through the heather very pleasant indeed; still neither of the -girls felt so happy or light-hearted as they had done when they started. - - "The little rift within the lute, - That soon must make all music mute," - -had this afternoon shown itself for the first time since they became -friends. With Blanche, however, it was only a momentary feeling of -unpleasantness and perplexity as to how Morag, the wise and good, should -on this occasion have behaved so badly. It was not her habit to keep her -thoughts to herself, so she presently exclaimed, "Well, Morag, I really -can't understand what makes you dislike such a nice old woman. You were -really quite sulky and rude when she held out her hand." - -A host of bitter feelings were surging in poor little Morag's breast, -and she made no reply to Blanche's remark. She had tried so hard to do -what was right, much against her own inclination, and now everything -seemed wrong. Her bonnie wee leddy, whom she loved so well, and wanted -so much to please, had called her rude; and very rude, certainly, must -Kirsty have thought her. - -Little did Blanche know what a familiar, enchanted spot this cottage was -to Morag. How often she had glanced wistfully into the little garden -with its sweet-scented flowers--the nicest she ever saw in her life, and -how she had longed to speak to the old stooping woman moving about among -them. On one eventful occasion, as she happened to pass along the dusty -road, Kirsty stood knitting at the gate, and, looking at the little -girl with her kindly smile, she had said, "It's a richt bonnie day, my -bairn." That was all; but poor little Morag went home feeling as if a -great event had happened, and resolving that she would pass that way -again, in the hope of such another salutation. She recounted the -circumstance glowingly to her father, but as he listened, his face wore -its darkest frown, and he said sternly, "Ye're no to be passin' that way -agin, I tell ye, gettin' Kirsty Macpherson's clavers. Depend on't, she -didna know your name was Dingwall, or she wouldna hae spoken til ye. -Ye'll no be darkenin' her door agin. D'ye hear, Morag?" and the little -girl had replied meekly, for she noticed that her father was in one of -his darkest moods. - -Morag had often pondered the matter, and wondered why her father -disliked Kirsty so very much. Always when they chanced to pass by the -road, Dingwall would glance uneasily at the cottage and its garden to -see if the old woman was about, and presently he would make some bitter -remark, and repeat his injunction that Morag should have nothing to do -with the "like o' her," till the little girl had come to think that -though Kirsty looked so delightful, she must surely be a very wicked -woman. Still, she had a curious fascination for the little girl; she -longed to see the interior of the pretty cottage, and felt a great -interest in all the ongoings of its inmate which it was possible to -observe from afar. She had always conscientiously avoided an encounter, -however, and on this afternoon she had in loyalty to her father shaped -her conduct, which Blanche characterized as rude. But now Morag began to -doubt whether Kirsty could really be a bad woman after all; she looked -so gentle, and had spoken such kind words,--and that strange message to -her father, too, what could it mean? The little girl could not -understand it, and she walked by Shag's side in silent perplexity and -distress. - -Blanche began to feel rather uncomfortable in having Morag walking by -her side so sadly and quietly. She could not be long silent under any -circumstances, and finally took refuge in a lively conversation with -Chance, who had been keeping beside her with rather a depressed aspect, -as if he guessed that something was wrong. At last, when he bounded off -in pursuit of a rabbit which had crossed the road, Blanche felt glad of -the excuse to follow, and trotted off, leaving poor little Morag -companionless. More heartsore than footsore, she wearily seated herself -on the heather to await their return. Her tears were not in the habit of -flowing readily, indeed she hardly remembered having a fit of crying -since she was a little girl; but as she sat on the bank, the bright sky -and the purple heath seemed suddenly to become dim to her eyes, and hot -tears rolled down the brown cheeks, and trickled through the little -hands, which would fain have hid them from the day. It was so hard, she -thought, to have tried to be good and obedient, and yet to feel so much -in the wrong as she did now, and to be so bitterly disgraced. If the wee -leddy could only know how much she would like to have gone to the -cottage-door with her, and what a struggle it had been to refuse when -the opportunity, so longed for, had presented itself. How nice it would -have been to see what was inside those pretty curtained windows, and to -watch the old woman moving about the cottage! And the wee leddy had said -something about Kirsty knowing the Lord Jesus; so she would be sure to -be able to tell her all the things which she wanted so much to know. - -Morag laid her head among the heather, and wept bitterly at the thought -of all she had missed that afternoon. And as she lay sobbing there, the -remembrance of the story which she had heard the day before for the -first time flitted across her little troubled heart like a gleam of -light. The Lord Jesus seemed always so very willing to help and comfort -everybody in trouble before the wicked men crucified Him on the green -hill. And had He not even come back again after He was laid in His -grave, and spoken such kind words to the woman who stood weeping there, -and might He not be able to help her now? - -Hardly knowing that she spoke aloud, Morag buried her face among the -bracken, and cried in her distress, "O Lord Jesus! gin ye be a frien' o' -Kirsty Macpherson's, dinna let her think ill o' me for no speakin' til -her; and mak' me happy again wi' the wee leddy." - -When she had finished speaking, she glanced around with an expectant -gaze, as if she might see a listener standing by her side. But there -stretched the solitary moors on all sides, with the yellow afternoon sun -shining calm and bright on everything, and sending his kind rays upon -the sorrowful little girl. - -Meanwhile, Blanche had been trying to enjoy her canter. She went further -on her homeward way than she intended; and Shag remonstrated not a -little when his bridle-rein intimated that he must retrace his steps. -"What! Shag, do you really mean to say that you've the heart to go home, -and leave Morag all alone?" expostulated Blanche; and at last the wilful -little Shetlander was brought to a better mind. - -And now Blanche began to think of the troubles which she would have to -face again; for she was a little person who could not be happy unless -she was the best of friends with everybody round her, winning and -bestowing smiles on all sides; and she felt that it was a very -uncomfortable state of matters to have Morag walking beside her, so sad -and silent. It did not occur to her that her friend's broken-hearted -aspect was more than half her doing; for Blanche had yet to learn how -much "evil is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart." But -when she felt herself in the wrong it was a much easier matter for her, -than it is for some people, to seek forgiveness eagerly and graciously. -All at once it dawned upon her that it was not quite kind to have -brought Kirsty to talk to Morag, who seemed so anxious not to see the -old woman. Perhaps, indeed, it might have been better not to have gone -into the cottage at all; and certainly it had quite spoilt a pleasant -afternoon. Thoroughly penitent, Blanche resolved that peace must be -instantly proclaimed between her mountain friend and herself. She -quickened Shag's pace, and swept suddenly round upon poor Morag, whom -she found starting up from the heather with a tear-stained face. Blanche -was at her side in a moment. - -"O Morag, dear, I'm so sorry! It's all my fault. I've just been thinking -I shouldn't have brought Kirsty to speak to you when you didn't want to -see her. Miss Prosser says I'm so thoughtless, and, you see, it's quite -true. Do say you forgive me, and don't cry any more, or I shall begin -directly." And Blanche's eyes filled with tears as she threw her arm -round the little brown neck, and looked into Morag's sorrowful face. - -"It's no that I didna want to see Kirsty, but father bid me no speak til -her,--niver, and I couldna' anger him. I would hae liket weel to gang -inby, though," she added, in a mournful tone. Then Morag went on to -tell, with much unconscious pathos in the narrative, of the romance -which had grown up round Kirsty Macpherson and her pretty dwelling, of -how long she had watched her from afar, often passing by that way, in -order to catch a glimpse of the old woman among her flowers, till her -father's injunction had made it an act of disobedience; and since then -she had tried very hard always to look the other way. Blanche could not -help thinking, as she listened, how much more good and obedient this -little untaught maiden had proved than she was likely to be in similar -circumstances. - -"But, Morag, I really can't think why your father should forbid you to -talk to Kirsty. I'm sure she can't possibly be a bad old woman;" and -Blanche gave a glowing description of her visit to the cottage, to which -Morag listened with eager interest. - -Shag was taking advantage of the pause to snap some delicious blades of -grass on the roadside, as well as his mouthful of steel would permit, -while Chance had drawn near to investigate the reason of this -objectionable halt, and was captured by Blanche, who began to twine a -wreath of deer-horn moss round his reluctant neck, as she talked. - -"I'll tell you what you must do, Morag," she said presently, jumping to -her feet with energy, as if inspired by a new idea. "Tell your father -all about our stopping at Kirsty's cottage,--how I would go to ask for -some water to drink, and how kind and nice she was to me; and wanted to -speak to you so much, if you only might have spoken to her. And, by the -by, she sent a message to your father--something about forgiving him, -wasn't it? I couldn't understand her very well. Now, Morag, if you only -tell your father the whole story, and coax him a little, you know, he -will be sure to allow you to speak to her next time. I do want so much -to go and see her another afternoon; but I shouldn't care to, if you -didn't come with me." - -Morag shook her head; she had not the same belief in her own coaxing -powers as she had in the bonnie wee leddy's. - -"I'll maybe try, but I'm thinkin' he'll no bear the soun' o' Kirsty's -name," said Morag, in a desponding tone, as she rose to recapture the -straying Shag. Then she reminded Blanche that they had still a long way -to go, and pointed to the sun, which was fast westering; so the -cavalcade moved on, and both the little hearts felt happier than they -had before the halt. - -Blanche felt certain that Morag's story would melt her father's -prejudice, whatever it might arise from; and Morag, though less -sanguine, began to be more hopeful, and listened with delighted smile to -the castles in the air which her companion was building concerning a -visit to the cottage; how they would tie Shag to a paling where he -could find some nice grass, and deciding that Chance must really be left -at home, being much too outrageous for a small room like Kirsty's. -Besides, as Blanche thoughtfully suggested, she might very likely have a -cat, in which case, Chance would be a most unwelcome guest, for his -sentiments regarding cats were only too well known to his anxious -mistress. - -Morag was still very shy and timid, and it was only on rare occasions -that even the little English maiden's pleasant prattle could put her at -her ease. It was quite an effort for her still to make a remark or to -ask a question; and now, as she nervously took hold of Shag's mane, -Blanche felt sure that she wanted very much to say something which would -come out presently. At last she asked, in quiet, eager tones, "Will ye -be so kind as to tell me, leddy, what she would be sayin' about the good -Lord? Is she weel acquaint wi' Him?" - -"Oh! let me see. I forget exactly what she said. I think I said that I -thought she must be very lonely, living there all by herself, and she -said she would be if it were not for the Lord Jesus Christ--or something -like that," replied Blanche, unable to give a sufficiently -circumstantial account of that part of the interview to satisfy Morag, -who remarked meditatively-- - -"I dinna' min' o' seein' nobody goin' intil the hoose, excep' auld -Elspet Bruce. Will He be goin' to see her, whiles, when she's her lone, -think ye, leddy?" - -"Who do you mean? I never said anybody went to see her; she did not tell -me so, you funny Morag," replied Blanche, looking puzzled. - -"I jist thocht maybe He will be goin' inby, whiles, when she was -terrible lonesome--the Lord Jesus, ye ken," stammered Morag. - -"Why, Morag, what queer, odd ideas you do have! Nobody ever saw the Lord -Jesus--at least not since He died and went to heaven,--and that's ever -so far away beyond the sun, you know, so He couldn't possibly come back. -I forget how far the nearest planet is from the earth. I had it in my -astronomy lesson the other day only." - -Morag relapsed into puzzled silence. She had not the remotest idea what -astronomy was, and wondered if she should know about that too when she -was able to read the Bible. After a little pause, she hazarded one -remark more-- - -"But do ye no min', leddy, how we read yestreen about the good Lord no -restin' intil His grave, like other folk, and when the woman was cryin' -there, how He came inby, and was terrible kind like?" - -"Oh yes," said Blanche, interrupting her; "of course 'He rose again the -third day,'--the creed says so, you know. But indeed, Morag, He never -comes and sees anybody now. I never heard of such a thing in my life. If -I were to ask Miss Prosser, she would be sure to say, 'My dear, I'm -shocked at your ignorance,' as she generally does when I ask questions." -And Blanche sighed at the thought of her ignorance, which appeared so -shocking to her governess in many instances. - -They were coming near home now, and had reached the shady birk walk -which led to the castle, when they heard through the trees Mr. -Clifford's pleasant ringing tones, which Morag loved to listen to. -"Well, pussy, what mischief have you been about this afternoon?" he -said, smilingly, as he lifted his little daughter from her pony. - -"O papa! I've so much to tell you. I have actually been inside Kirsty's -cottage, and it looks quite as pretty inside as outside, and she's such -a nice old woman," said Blanche, rapturously, forgetting that she had -not introduced her new acquaintance. - -"I fear I must confess shameful ignorance, Blanchie," replied her -father, smiling. "Who is this Kirsty? and where does she abide--a friend -of Morag's?" - -And then Blanche remembered that was a question which might prove -embarrassing, so she adroitly changed the subject. - -"Oh, here comes Lucas for Shag. I know Morag wants to get home to make -ready her father's supper," she continued, being quite at home now in -all the domestic arrangements of the hut among the crags. - -Morag seemed nothing loath to make her escape. She quickly resigned -Shag's bridle to the old coachman and was turning to go, when Mr. -Clifford, opening the luncheon basket, took a beautiful bunch of grapes, -and handed them to her, saying, "Here, little black-eyes, take this to -eat on the way home." - -Morag lifted the dark fringes, and looked timidly up for a moment, then -a pair of brown hands were held out to receive the purple cluster. The -tartan skirt touched the ground in a low curtsey, and after a timid -glance at her bonnie wee leddy, she walked slowly off, carefully -balancing the gift in both hands. - -"I hope she will eat them on the way home, and not keep them for her -father," said Blanche, sighing, as she looked fondly after her little -friend. - -"Why, Blanche! you ungracious little person; do you really object to my -gamekeeper having a share of all the good things going?" said Mr. -Clifford. - -"Yes indeed, I do, papa. I don't think the keeper can be a nice man at -all. Only fancy, he has quarrelled with that nice old Kirsty, and has -forbidden Morag to speak to her even; and she is such a good girl she -will not do it, though she wanted to know Kirsty for ages." - -"And so you are going to be a sort of damsel-errant, riding forth on -Shag to redress all the wrongs and quarrels of the Glen," laughed Mr. -Clifford, as he looked at Blanche's glowing face. "Depend upon it my -keeper has some very good reason at his finger-ends for having -quarrelled with this same Kirsty. Perhaps he found her poaching; who -knows, Blanchie?" - -"What's that, papa? But if it's anything wicked, I'm quite sure Kirsty -would not do it. Is poaching wicked, papa; and what is it?" - -"Just you ask the Major, pussy! Blanche has got a knotty question for -you to solve, Seton," said Mr. Clifford, turning to one of his guests. -"She wants to know if poaching is wicked!" - -"But I want first to know what poaching is, because papa says that nice -old woman Kirsty may have been poaching, and that is the reason why the -keeper dislikes her so much," said Blanche eagerly, as she joined Major -Seton. - -"Ah! I see. You want to know what poaching is, and you reserve the right -of deciding whether it is right or not. Very proper," said the old -gentleman, as he looked kindly at the little eager face. "I'll tell you -what game preservers call poaching; but, perhaps, if you were to ask -your friend of the uncouth name, she might not give you exactly the same -description of the word. You might find her sitting down to sup on a -hare, which she caught in the act of dining off her nice trim row of -cabbages--some of which she meant for her own dinner, probably, if the -hare hadn't thought them good to eat. Perhaps she might invite you to -join in her savory supper, and you might be sitting smacking your lips -over it. But, suddenly, an official-looking individual might pop his -head in at the door with a knowing look, and tapping your friend on the -shoulder, say, in a stern voice, 'My good woman, you must come with me; -you've been poaching.' And if, in defence, you attempted to explain that -the hare was treading down the trim garden, and eating the cabbages -when Kirsty caught it, 'Just so, little girl,' the individual would -reply; 'I see you're in possession of the facts. This woman is a -poacher, and must be committed for trial. My prisoner,' he would say," -and the Major finished with a little tap on Blanche's shoulder, which -made her start as if the said official were at her elbow. - -"So that's what you call poaching?" she said, with a long-drawn breath. -"But, Major Seton, how can anybody call it wicked to kill a beast that -is destroying one's garden when gentlemen shoot them only for fun on the -hills?" - -"So it may appear to our philosophical minds, Blanchie; but I doubt -whether your papa and his gamekeeper will take quite the same view of -the matter. Clifford, your daughter is dead set against the game-laws. I -haven't succeeded in making her view poaching in a criminal light. She's -a born Radical, I fear. You must take her in hand, and teach her young -idea how to shoot in a proper Conservative direction," said the pleasant -old gentleman as he rolled away, but his love for truth brought his -portly figure rolling back again the next minute. "I say, Blanchie, -dear, I'm afraid my parable was decidedly one-sided. Remember that -poachers are often no better than common thieves--stealing a gentleman's -game as they might steal his watch or his umbrella, if they had the -chance. So don't go romancing in your tender heart over the wrongs of -poachers, little woman. They are often great rascals, I assure you." - -"Well, I only hope papa won't ever put a nice old woman into prison for -catching a creature that was spoiling her pretty garden. But do you -know, Major Seton," added Blanche, in a confidential tone, "I don't like -Dingwall. I think he could be very cruel and unkind. He has got such -cruel eyes--not a bit like Morag's. I don't like him at all." - -"Why, what a prejudiced little puss it is, to be sure. What ails you at -the keeper? Is it a case of the unfortunate typical Doctor Fell, I -wonder?" But just then Blanche was summoned to tea, and the reason, if -she had one, of her dislike to the keen-eyed keeper was not forthcoming. - - - - -VII. - -_MORAG'S VISIT TO KIRSTY, AND HOW IT CAME ABOUT._ - - -IT was the Sabbath-day. Glen Eagle was, if possible, stiller than its -wont--no shepherd shouted upon the mountains; no reapers stood among the -upland, half-shorn fields; the moor-fowl had peace that day among the -heather, unmolested by dog or gun. The white, motionless clouds on the -deep blue sky, as well as the lower landscape, seemed pervaded by that -peculiar stillness which Morag always noticed belonged to this day, -though it brought to her no sound of church bells, inviting her to -mingle her worship with the congregation. Sunday was always a very -lonely day in the little eyrie among the mountains, and during these -past weeks they had seemed specially empty and solitary to the little -Morag. For then there were no rambles with the bonnie wee leddy--indeed -she seldom saw her on these days, except she chanced to catch a glimpse -of her from afar, as she was driven past in an open carriage, embedded -in furs and dazzling with bright colors. But the little gloved hand -would always emerge from the furs in friendly salute if Morag was in -view, and the blue eyes look kindly, and often longingly, down on the -little mountain maiden, who would stand watching the shining carriage as -it swept swiftly along the winding road, and listening to Blanche's -silvery laugh as it echoed among the silent hills. - -But on this Sunday morning Morag did not wander down the hill, as usual, -when her work was done, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the people -from the castle. She sat very disconsolately on the turf in front of the -hut, watching her father as he went down the hill toward the kennels. - -The keeper had gone to loose the dogs, to take them for a long walk, -which he always did on Sunday. He was not a frequenter of the little -kirk in the village, and somewhat disliked the cessation from his -ordinary work which the day of rest imposed. This morning he had gone -off in one of his darkest moods. Morag was used to his periods of grim -silence; but, of this one, she thought that she could trace the cause, -and she pondered ruefully over the utter failure of the wee leddy's -sanguine plan for softening the keeper's heart towards Kirsty. The story -of the visit to the cottage, and her share in it, had been narrated on -the previous evening to her father without any other result than a -bitter sneer, as he said, "Ye did weel, Morag, my lass, no to darken -Kirsty Macpherson's door; and gin ye be yer ain frien', ye'll jist -better keep that chatterin' bit leddy outby." - -Morag felt as if she had received a blow, but there still remained one -other arrow in her quiver, and she drew it at a venture. "But, father, -though I didna speak wi' Kirsty, I couldna shut my ears when she was -speakin', ye see. I hae a bit o' a message for ye frae her--I'm thinkin' -I min' upon ilka word that she said--this was it: 'Will ye tell Alaster -Dingwall that auld Kirsty is willin' to forgie him?' There was some more -I'm thinkin', but I didna hear right," she added in low, troubled tones, -lowering her eyelashes, and not daring to look into her father's face. - -He was smoking his pipe at the time, and he sat gazing gloomily into the -red embers on the hearth till he had finished. Morag knew that he had -come in for the night, so she was not a little surprised to see him -refill his pipe again and prepare to go out; but he gave no explanation, -so she did not venture to ask any questions. It was a fine moonlight -night; Morag came to the door of the hut, and stood watching him as he -sauntered slowly down the hill, and went in the direction of a larch -plantation, some distance off, which looked pale and shadowy in the -clear shimmering light, with its background of dark fir-trees that -stretched beyond. - -These larches were young seventeen years ago, when Dingwall had known -the place well; and a crowd of strange memories, conjured up by Morag's -random shot, drew him towards it to-night. The little girl had sat -watching and waiting by the whitening peat embers till she grew very -sleepy; and before her father returned from his night walk, she crept -away to bed. - -So this bright Sunday morning opened very gloomily for the inmates of -the hut among the crags. Morag had taken the old Bible from the depths -of the _kist_, and it lay open before her on the turf, but somehow -to-day she felt disinclined for the slow spelling of the words, and -rather disheartened with her progress generally. She began to fear that -her eye would never be able to go swiftly down the pages, understanding -every word like her little teacher, or as Blanche had said, Kirsty was -able to do; and then her thoughts went back to the events of yesterday. -How sorry the wee leddy would be to hear of the plan for melting the -keeper's prejudice, and perhaps she might be angry and call her rude -again the next time she refused to go into the cottage. It all seemed -very hard, Morag thought; and, as she sat gazing up into the calm sky -with its motionless clouds, she could not help thinking how very far -away it seemed from her and her troubled ways. Presently these sad -meditations were interrupted by the reappearance of her father, who, to -her great surprise, seemed to be coming up the hill again, with the dogs -all scrambling round him. He had only been gone a few minutes, and it -was his custom to take a long walk, so Morag wondered what could have -brought him back, but she did not venture to ask any questions. He -seated himself on the turf beside her, and after playing with the dogs -for a little, he glanced at her with a half smile, and said, hurriedly-- - -"Weel, Morag, lass, is yer heid as sair turned as iver aboot that auld -Kirsty Macpherson?" - -"She looks a real nice old woman, father. I canna think why ye'll no -let me speak wi' the like o' her. She surely canna be an ill woman, as -ye think," returned Morag, emboldened by the smile on her father's face. - -"Wha ever said she was an ill woman?" said the keeper, looking dark -again, and ignoring all the bitter things which Morag had often heard -him say concerning Kirsty. "We did ance quarrel, but I'll no say I wasna -maist to blame. Gin Kirsty Macpherson speaks a ceevil word to ye agin, -ye needna jist athegither haud yer tongue, lass. D'ye understand, -Morag?" asked the keeper, getting up from the turf as if he had said -what was on his mind. - -Morag could hardly believe her ears. She sat watching her father go down -the hill again, as if she were in a dream. Presently an idea seemed to -seize her, and she bounded off after him, and all trembling with -eagerness, she said-- - -"Father, I'm feert Kirsty will be thinkin' me terrible rude for no -speakin' yestreen. Would it anger ye if I jist ran past the cottage to -see if she was outby? I needna speak gin she doesna, ye ken." - -"Oh ay; ye can gang if ye like, lass. I'm thinkin' that Kirsty is atween -ye and yer wits, Morag," he added, smiling at the earnest face. "Jist -tak a brace or twa o' the grouse hangin' there wi' ye. The auld wife -will think mair o' them than us." - -Morag was bounding back to the hut in wild delight, when her father -called again, "Bide a wee, lass. Ye mustna tak' the birds. I dinna think -she would athegither like sic a present frae me." - -Morag stood rather discomfited. The idea of a peace-offering had been -very pleasant, and it was disappointing to be obliged to abandon it. She -suddenly remembered the purple cluster of grapes which Mr. Clifford gave -to her the day before. She had hidden it away as a delightful surprise -for her father, during some period of to-day, and she said, doubtfully-- - -"I was keepin' some bonnie berries for ye that the maister gied me -yestreen; but maybe ye wouldna min' if I gied them to Kirsty?" - -"That'll do fine, my lass," cried Dingwall, in his most good-humored -tone, as he disappeared down the hill, surrounded by the scrambling -pointers and setters. - -In a very short time after, Morag might have been seen hovering near the -little gate of Kirsty's cottage, with her peace-offering carefully -balanced in her little brown hands. A few of the precious moments -previous to setting out had been spent in performing a most careful -toilette, and the opinion of a broken corner of the looking-glass was -that the black locks had never looked so smooth and sleek before. Having -scampered down the hill in a state of breathless excitement, she did not -at first contemplate the bold step of entering the sacred precincts and -knocking at Kirsty's door, as the wee leddy had done. She quite counted -on seeing her "outby" somewhere, and she hung about on the roadside in -that hope, but no Kirsty appeared. Then Morag remembered that it was -Sunday, and she began to fear that the old woman might have gone to the -kirk. The little girl felt bitterly disappointed; for she felt sure that -this must be the case, since Kirsty was not visible anywhere, and no -smoke came from the tiny chimney of the cottage. If she lost this -opportunity, she might never have such another. What if her father -changed his mind again? she thought. Indeed it seemed hardly possible to -believe that she was here with his permission when she remembered his -stern command on the previous evenings that she was never to darken -Kirsty's door. At last, with exhausted patience, she resolved to take -the bold step of entering the little gate and tapping at the door, for -had she not a peace-offering?--and it was just possible that Kirsty -might not have gone to the kirk after all. - -Many a time in after years Morag Dingwall remembered that first knocking -at Kirsty's door on the still Sunday morning, and smiled a quiet, -thankful smile as the vision of the eager, breathless little girl, -standing on the threshold of Life, rose before her in the shadowy -distance of the Past. - -The outer door stood open, but nobody answered the knock, though Morag -fancied that she heard some movement within. The doors of both _but_ and -_ben_ were closed, but she ventured to knock again, and this time a -voice, which seemed to sound feebler than the old woman's did on the -previous day, called "Come ben." - -Morag obeyed the call, and at last stood inside the pretty cottage which -she had so longed to see. The room looked as pretty as the wee leddy had -described it, but the arm-chair at the ingle-neuk was empty, and there -was not the faintest glow among the white peat embers on the hearth. The -little girl looked round in dumb surprise, but presently a voice came -from the bed in the dark-panelled wall, "Eh, lassie, but is this you? -Ye're the keeper Dingwall's bairn 'at I saw yestreen--arna ye?" and -Kirsty raised herself in bed, and holding out her hand, smiled kindly on -the little Morag. - -"Are ye no weel, Kirsty?" she asked, in low, sympathizing tones, as she -drew near the bed. - -"I'm nae jist verra weel the day. I had a bit blastie i' the nicht. -'Deed, bairn, I some thocht He was ga'en to tak' me hame til Himsel. An' -fat's brocht ye here the day, my lassie?" said Kirsty, turning kindly to -the shy little Morag, as she held her hand in her long thin fingers. - -"I brought ye some bonnie berries the castle folk gied me yestreen. -Maybe ye'll tak' some," said the little girl, as she lifted the grapes -from the table where she had laid them, and put them on the bed. - -"Eh, bairn! but that was terrible mindfu' o' ye. They're richt bonnie -graps, and will cool my mou'. 'Deed, they'll be the first thing I hae -tasted the day." Morag felt immensely gratified when Kirsty plucked a -grape from the purple cluster and put it into her parched mouth. She was -now seated at Kirsty's bedside, by her invitation, and began, already, -to feel quite happy and at home in this enchanted interior of her -dreams. - -"I'm richt glaid to see ye, Morag," said the old woman, smiling kindly -on her. "The sicht o' a blythe young face does a body guid--and it's a -rare ane to me, sin' mony a lang year," she said, sadly; and then, -brightening, she added, "But we canna say we're unca lonesome, when we -can hae a sicht o' His ain face, gin we lat Him in. Eh, bairn; but He's -aye keepit His word wi' me. 'I'll no leave ye comfortless, I will come -to ye,'" said Kirsty, as she closed her eyes and laid her head on her -pillow again. - -"Ye'll be meanin' the Lord Jesus, arna ye, Kirsty?" asked Morag, her -face all quivering with eagerness. "Then He does come, efter a'?" she -added, triumphantly. "The wee leddy o' the castle said how it wasna -possible. I would like richt weel to see Him, mysel. He maun aye come i' -the nicht, surely, for I'll whiles be passin' o' this road, and I never -saw Him goin' inby." - -Kirsty looked at the eager, young face, with a shade of perplexity in -her calm, gray eyes. Morag noticed it, and felt a chill, but she would -not give it up yet. "It will be the Lord Jesus who comes cheerin' ye -when ye're feelin' some lonesome like, isna it, Kirsty?" - -"Ay is't, my bairn. And He's willin' to come til ye, just the same. -It's ane o' His ain sweetest words, 'Suffer the children to come.'" - -"But Miss Blanche says naebody iver saw Him, and that He doesna go aboot -healin' and comfortin' folk, as He did lang syne. I dinna understan' it -richt; for just the ither day she read til me i' the fir-wood that He -cam' oot o' His grave efter wicked folk killed Him deid on the green -hill, and was speakin' real kind to the woman that was cryin' inby -there. I would like weel to see Him, Kirsty. I dinna think I would be -feert." - -"Eh, my bairn, but I see fat ye would be at, noo. But ye're jist for a' -the earth like the onbelievin' Thamas, that wouldna rest satisfeid till -he pit his fingers intil His maister's verra side. We mauna forget that -He says Himsel, 'Blessed are they who dinna see, and yet believe.'" - -Kirsty's Biblical illustration was too much advanced to suit the little -untaught maiden, but she gathered enough from it to begin to fear that -the wee leddy must be right after all, and presently she said, in a -mournful tone-- - -"Then, Kirsty, it's true that we canna see His face nor hear Him -speakin' no more at all?" - -"No wi' the eye o' sense, my bairn. 'The warl seeth me nae mair; but ye -see me,' He says Himsel', and He aye keeps His word. Jist ye get a sight -o' Him wi' the eye o' faith, bairn, and it will mak' ye rejoice and be -glaid a' yer days;" and the old woman turned with a radiant smile to the -little girl, who sat gazing wistfully, with folded hands. - -It was evident that this good Lord was a real present person to Kirsty, -however shadowy might be the conception which Morag could at present -form of Him. But to understand in any degree that He was a real, present -friend, though unseen, was more than Morag could know, just then. - -The yellow autumn sun came streaming in at the little window, and shone -on Kirsty's face, showing how wan and wearied it was after her sleepless -night. Morag was full of motherly, ministering instincts, and it made -her little heart ache to see the kind old woman look so ill and feeble. -Glancing at the cold hearth, she remembered, wondering how she could -have been so long of thinking about it, that Kirsty could not have had -any breakfast yet, and must be cold and faint for want of it. - -"Wouldna ye be better wi' a cup o' tea, Kirsty? I'll jist licht a bit -fire, and be puttin' the kettle on," said Morag, as she rose and began -to break some dead branches which Kirsty's careful fingers had gathered -in the gloaming on the evening before. - -"'Deed, bairn, I would tak' it richt kin' o' ye," replied Kirsty, who -had always the good grace to receive a favor simply. - -The branches soon began to crackle merrily, the peats caught the glow, -and the kettle commenced to sing in the midst of the cheerful blaze. -Morag moved quietly about, filled with contentment that she was able to -be of use to Kirsty. She had shut her eyes, and was lying quietly, so -Morag did not trouble her with questions, but seemed to know by instinct -where all the component parts of a cup of tea were to be gathered. When -Kirsty opened her eyes again, it was to see the little maiden standing -by her bedside with the restoring beverage all ready, and a bit of -beautiful toasted bread into the bargain. - -"Eh, but it's unca kin' to be comin' ministerin' til an auld body like -me," said the old woman, as she sat up in bed. "But winna yer faither be -wonderin' what's come ower ye? ye mauna anger him, ye ken." - -"Wha wad hae thocht that Alaster Dingwall's bairn would be makin' a cup -o' tay til auld Kirsty?" continued the old woman in a soliloquy, as -Morag washed the cup and plate when she had finished her breakfast, and -replaced them among the rows of shining delf. How very clean and pretty -they looked, Morag thought; and she resolved that she would immediately -arrange the slender stock of unbroken dishes belonging to the hut after -the same fashion, and make them look bright and shining too. Then she -proceeded to build up the fire with skilful fingers, and surveyed the -room, with a thoughtful air, to see what the possible wants for the day -might be. The pitcher which held the supply of water was almost empty, -so Morag ran quickly down to the spring under the tree, and brought it -back refilled, and then she poured some into a cup and set it by -Kirsty's bed. "Thank ye kindly, bairn. The Lord reward ye for yer -helpin' o' an auld frail craeter. Afore ye gang, wad ye jist rax me that -Bible, an' maybe ye wad read a bittie til me; my eyes are some dim the -day?" - -"I would be richt glaid to read to ye, Kirsty, but I canna read ony," -replied Morag, sadly, with an ashamed look; and then she added, "the wee -leddy's been tryin' to learn me, though, and maybe I'll be fit to read -to ye some day, but it'll no be for a lang time yet, I'm thinkin'." - -"Eh, my puir bairn, I never thocht but ye could read. 'Deed it was ill -dune o' the keeper nae to sen' ye til the schule," remarked Kirsty, in a -more severe tone than she generally used. - -"How could he sen' me til the schule, and it such a lang road frae -this,--and him aye needin' me forby," replied Morag, kindling up in her -absent parent's defence. - -"Weel, weel, bairn; maybe I shouldna hae been judgin'. We're a' ready -eneuf at that. But gin ye'll come to see me, whiles, when I'm a bit -stronger like, I'll gie ye a' the help wi' the reading 'at I can. I've a -gey curran buiks there." - -"I'll be real glaid to come back and see ye, and I'm thinkin' father -will no hinder me, noo. I maun be goin' hame, but I'll try and get back -the morn, to speir how ye're keepin'. I'm real sorry to leave ye yer -lone, Kirsty," said Morag, pityingly, as she glanced at the lonely, -frail old woman. Then she remembered what Kirsty said about not being -lonesome when the Lord Jesus was with her, and she added, "I'm thinkin' -when I'm awa, ye'll jist be speakin' til Him--the good Lord, ye ken." - -"Aye, that will I my bairn; an' I houp ye'll learn to speak wi' Him -yersel. It's His ain blessed Word, that them that hungers efter Him will -be filled. 'Deed but I'm richt glad ye're ta'en up aboot Him, Morag. -There's whiles He stands at the door o' bairns' hairts and knocks, and -they winna lat Him in; but tak' their ain foolish, sorrowfu' gait. Keep -on seekin' Him, and ye'll surely get a sicht o' His face or lang. It's -jist as plain as gin ye saw Himsel' i' the body, like the woman at His -grave. Now, bairn, ye mauna bide a minute langer. Yer faither will be -wonderin' what's come ower ye," said Kirsty, looking uneasily at Morag, -who had seated herself again, and seemed inclined to linger. "Tak' this -bonnie word wi' ye oot o' His ain Beuk," she added, smiling on the -little, grave, perplexed face that looked into hers. "'Them 'at seek me -early shall fin' me.' Good-day, Morag, and haste ye back." - -Morag was soon crossing the breezy heather road on her way home, with a -very happy heart, only disturbed by a slight feeling of anxiety lest her -father should have relapsed into his old state of feeling towards -Kirsty, and she should be hindered from another visit to the cottage. - - - - -VIII. - -_THE GYPSIES AT LAST._ - - -ONE pleasant day, when the woods and hills of Glen Eagle were lying in -the yellow afternoon sunshine, Morag and Blanche wandered into their old -trysting-place, the fir-wood, which they had rather deserted of late. - -The precious holiday afternoons had most frequently been spent in the -_ben-end_ of Kirsty's cottage, and a staunch friendship had sprung up -between the old woman and the little girls. These visits had become a -great and daily happiness to Morag. Kirsty's illness lasted for some -time, and Morag often thought that but for it she should never have felt -so much at home in the cottage, which she had so long watched from afar -with a mingled feeling of curiosity and dislike; and now she knew every -stone and cupboard of it by heart. For had she not helped Kirsty on her -recovery to make a thorough cleaning of both _but_ and _ben_, for which -the old woman's active fingers had longed, as soon as she was "to the -fore" again. Already, the little untaught maiden had learnt from her old -friend many useful household arts and wise maxims, and the keeper's home -began to bear traces of Kirsty's thrifty ways and cleanly habits. Every -morning during the old woman's illness, Morag had started for the -cottage after her own work was done, taking the short cut through the -heather, and gathering, as she went, a little bundle of sticks for the -fire-lighting. Then, after Kirsty's morning wants were supplied--and she -was not an exacting invalid--Morag would take her seat on a little low -wooden stool which Kirsty named "Thrummy," from its being covered with -shreds of cloth fastened to the wood. It was made by her long ago for a -vanished child, who once had been the light of that now lonely home. -Morag often sat on it in these days, listening with eager, upturned face -to Kirsty's solemn reading of the book she loved. Her rough northern -tongue sounded very different from the silvery flow of the little -English lady; but Morag felt that the words which she heard in the -cottage were no mere tale to Kirsty, "no vain thing, but her life." - -Slowly, the words of Jesus began to sink into the little girl's heart, -and gradually she came to understand, after the first chill of -disappointment was past, that though the earthly voice of the Son of Man -was heard no longer, nor His ministering touch felt among the people, as -it used to be in those early days of which the Gospels told, yet He was -still the loving, listening Helper of all who came to Him. Kirsty's -belief that He was not dead, nor very far away, but a very present -Friend to be listened to and spoken to at all times with a certainty -that He would both hear and help, had in some degree penetrated Morag's -soul; and she, too, ventured to bring her little cares and troubles to -this new-found Friend, and had already a spiritual record of help given -and difficulties met in the name and strength of Jesus. - -And so it happened that Kirsty's cottage became quite a rival to the -fir-wood, which seemed to Morag like a dearly-loved, but neglected -friend, as she trod among the soft moss and brown fir-needles on this -afternoon. After visiting a few of the historical spots sacred to the -memory of the first days of their acquaintance, Blanche proposed that -they should make an exploring tour to a part of the forest which she had -never visited; and the little girls made their way through the fir-trees -to where the Shadows were darkest, and the arching green boughs almost -shut out the day. Blanche was gay and talkative as usual, dancing hither -and thither, singing snatches of songs, and making the great aisles of -pine re-echo with her laughter and fun. She kept stopping as usual to -gather various treasures from the great floor of the forest--"specimens," -she called them; but it is to be feared that they never reached a calm -state of museum classification. Blanche meant that these "specimens" -should travel to London with her--and stowed them away in corners of her -room with that intention, though her design was frustrated in most -cases, however, by their being deposited in the dust-bin by Ellis, while -she remarked to cook that she "never did see the like of missy for -fillin' her room with rubbage of all kinds." - -Chance had chosen to remain at home on this afternoon, notwithstanding -Blanche's pressing invitation that he should accompany them. He had -replied to it by shaking his head, knowingly, as if to say, "No, no, my -little mistress, I'm not going to be taken in. Shag is not going, I see; -so you are only going to loiter about in an aimless manner, and I should -certainly be bored. Much nicer here," he thought, as he stretched -himself lazily on the warm stones of the old court-yard, where the sun -was striking, and snapped at a fly,--pretending to look the other way -when Blanche made her final appeal to his honor and conscience. Perhaps -he felt a few twinges of remorse at having so determinately chosen to -neglect his duty, for he rose presently and stood looking after the -girls as they disappeared among the birk-trees; but he did not repent, -evidently, for he went and lay down again, deciding that there was no -use of a fellow putting himself about for two silly little girls on a -hot afternoon like this. - -Morag and Blanche wandered into the forest till they reached the old -road skirted by a low, lichen-spotted wall, which was the entrance to -the glen, and divided the forest. And now Morag's clock--the afternoon -sun--told her that it was more than time for them to be turning their -steps in a homeward direction,--especially since, that very afternoon, -before they started, she had received strict injunctions from Miss -Prosser to see that her charge was not again late for tea, since the -flight of time seemed to pass quite unnoticed by Miss Clifford. It was -by no means an easy matter to be time-keeper to such an inconsequent -young lady as Blanche, who never realized the unpleasantness of being -late till she was brought face to face with Miss Prosser. She was now -wandering about in all directions, adding to her lapful of gatherings, -and talking pleasant nonsense, while Morag's rare laugh was sometimes -heard joining in her merriment. - -At last they started on their homeward way, and Morag was congratulating -herself that she would be able to present her erratic wee leddy in time -for tea, when Blanche noticed a plantation of larches, which looked so -pretty and feathery through the dark firs that she thought she should -like to inspect them more closely, and coaxed Morag to come on with her. - -An old grey dyke separated the fir forest from the larches. The girls -followed its windings for a little, and presently Blanche climbed across -the loose stones, and went a little way into the larch plantation to -explore. Morag felt impatient to proceed, and walked on to try and -discover which would be the most direct route home through the firs. -Presently she heard a sound, which her accustomed ear detected as an -unusual one in that silent sanctuary of hers. She hastily turned a sharp -corner to see what the next winding of the dyke would disclose, and, in -doing so, she almost ran up again a sort of tent. It was a very rude -erection, and consisted of a few large branches which had been driven -loosely into the ground, and partly rested against the old wall for -support. A tarpaulin was thrown over them, but it was evidently too -small to cover the abode, and was supplemented by a tartan plaid, which -hung across the front stakes, so that no entrance was visible. This was -not Nature's doing, evidently, and Morag was seized with a great panic -when she saw the unexpected human habitation. She had heard wild stories -of terrible deeds done on lonely moors and in lonely woods, and felt -more frightened than she had ever done in her life when she thought how -far they were from home, and that the precious wee leddy was -unprotected, save by her. However, she saw no terrific personage as yet, -and she began to hope that the inmates of the tent might be from home. -But there was that sound again, and this time it seemed like the moaning -of a voice in pain. Morag felt that safety lay in immediate flight, and -she quietly turned to meet Blanche, and to make a sign of silence. But, -before she had time to do so, the wee leddy's voice rang out in gleeful -tones, concerning the varied delights of the larch plantation, which -the dwellers under the tartan could not fail to hear. Whenever Blanche -caught a glimpse of Morag's startled face, she knew that there must be -something very far wrong, and she stood looking at her in questioning -silence. Presently, a rustling sound made them both turn, and Blanche's -eye caught sight of the rude tent. For a moment she stood riveted gazing -at it, while Ellis's stories and prophecies concerning the gypsies -chased each other through her mind, and she thought with terror that -they had all come true at last. - -Presently there was a fluttering of the tartan awning, and a hand -appeared among its fringes, as if to make a passage out. - -Blanche's face grew white with fear, and she clutched Morag's arm with a -scream of terror. The little mountain maiden kept quite silent, though -her face looked as terror-stricken as that of her companion. Seizing -Blanche's arm, she began to pull her along, running as nearly as -possible in a homeward direction. On they galloped, breathless and -speechless; but the fir needles were slippery, and the trees were in the -way. - -At last Morag felt that the wee leddy's steps were beginning to flag; -and, worse than all, she fancied that she heard footsteps behind. It was -a terrible effort, but the suspense began to be insupportable, and -without slackening her pace she turned to look. There, sure enough, was -a man behind them, gaining ground upon them very fast, too. Poor Blanche -kept up bravely in the race for a while, but now she began to fail. -First, her hat fell off, and even Morag did not venture to turn to pick -it up; then her lapful of gatherings dropped one by one, tripping her as -they fell; finally she stumbled, and the golden crown was down, down -among the fir-needles, and the tears were falling fast. No entreaties of -Morag's could persuade her to move, and the footsteps of the pursuer -sounded nearer every minute. The little mountaineer could have outrun -almost anybody, but she never dreamt of leaving Blanche; and now she -seated herself quietly beside her bonnie wee leddy, determined to -protect her to the death. In her distress she cried to the unseen, -listening Friend, whom in these last days she had been learning to know: -"O Lord Jesus, dinna let the gypsies get hand o' us; and may no ill come -ower the bonnie wee leddy here," she added as she seized her hand, and -made a last effort to rouse her to run again. She knew that the pursuer, -whoever he might be, must be close at hand now, but she did not dare to -look back. Blanche at last raised her head, and now, for the first -time, she heard the sound of the footsteps behind. With a shriek of -terror she rose to run again; Morag followed, but this time she did not -feel quite so frightened, somehow, as she had done before, and, at last, -a sudden impulse caused her to turn round to face her pursuer, and await -her fate. - -Hurrying through the fir trees, she saw, not a terrific-looking gypsy, -but a pale, slender boy, with a gentle-looking face, considerably taller -than herself. He was signing to her, and called something when he saw -her turn round at last. Morag's terror began to abate in some degree, -and the boy presently joined her, breathless after his chase, and rather -frightened-looking also. He was holding Blanche's hat in his hand, which -he shyly restored to Morag. "She dropt it," he said, pointing to -Blanche, who still continued to run at full speed without turning to -look. The restoration of the dropped hat looked promising; Morag began -to feel reassured, and at the same time rather ashamed of herself. - -"Will you be so kind as tell me where I can find some water?" asked the -boy in a quiet tone; "we are strangers, and mother is very sick;" and -his voice faltered. - -Morag's little motherly heart was melted in an instant. "I'm real sorry -yer mother's no weel," she replied in sympathizing tones. "I'll maybe -find a drop o' water for ye, but it's some far frae here. The wee leddy -and me were terribly frightened, and we couldna jist help runnin'," she -added apologetically. - -Blanche had halted in her flight, not hearing Morag's step behind, and -her astonishment was as great as her terror had been the previous moment -when she turned and saw Morag calmly engaged in conversation with the -object of their fear. She did not venture to join them; but a feeling of -curiosity, which is a great dispeller of fear, took possession of her, -and she stood waiting breathlessly to see what was going to happen next. - -Presently Morag came running to her to explain and consult. The lad -slowly followed, looking rather more abashed than before, when he saw -Blanche. He turned to Morag again and said, eagerly, "Will you not come -and see my mother? I think it might cheer her to see you. We have come a -long way, and the water is done, and she is so tired and thirsty. I'm -afraid she is very ill--she says she's dying." It was a fine manly face; -but the gray eyes filled with tears as he looked imploringly, first at -one and then at the other of the little girls. - -"Oh yes, certainly; we shall be glad to go and see your mother. I do -hope she is not so very ill. And, of course, we must find some water, -though we have to go right home for it, Morag," said the impulsive -little Blanche, every trace of her former fear having vanished in a -moment. "You must have thought it very queer of Morag and me to run away -as we did. But, indeed, we were dreadfully frightened, and quite thought -you were dangerous gypsies, you know." - -The boy's face flushed, but he made no reply. Meanwhile, Morag was -silently planning what would be the best thing to do. It was now more -than time that Blanche should have returned to the castle, and yet here -was an appeal which it would require a harder heart than Morag's to -resist. - -"Of course we must help him, Morag," whispered Blanche, noticing her -hesitation. "Don't you see how sad he is about his sick mother? I really -don't think there could be any harm in going to see her. He seems so -very anxious. Come, let's go for one minute." - -And so they turned to retrace their steps along the path over which -they had hurried in such terror a few minutes before, with their dreaded -pursuer walking calmly and inoffensively by their side. - -When they reached the tent, Morag recognized the moaning voice which had -at first roused her alarm. The boy drew aside the tartan folds and -stepped in before them, and presently they heard a feeble voice say, -"Kenneth! Kenneth! you've been long away. Don't leave me, my boy--it -won't be long now you'll have to stay. I would like to have lived to see -her, though. We must surely be near the place now. The last milestone -said three miles from the kirk town of Glen Eagle, didn't it? The -Highlander said she was still alive, you know. You'll seek her out when -I'm gone--she's good and kind, he always said. Bring her here, and -she'll help you with everything there will be to do--after I'm gone. I -would fain have seen her once before I died, though; but you'll tell her -I have gone to meet her long lost Kenneth, who is safe in the happy home -of God. You will follow Jesus, and He will lead you safe home, my boy." - -Morag had been listening intently to the feeble, broken sentences, and -now she could hear that Kenneth gave a great sob, as he said, "O -mother! don't speak like that! I'm sure you'll feel better again, when -we find grandmother. You've often been nearly as ill before. There's a -nice little girl I met in the wood, going to try to get some water, and -maybe you'll be better after you get a drink." - -"A girl did you say, Kenny? where is she?" asked the sick woman, turning -restlessly about. - -Kenneth drew aside the tartan screen, and beckoned to Morag, who stepped -in softly, followed by Blanche. - -In a corner of the tent, on some loose straw, lay the dying woman, with -her head resting on one of the lichen-spotted stones of the old dyke. -She turned her large, bright, restless eyes on the little girls as they -entered the tent. Raising herself a little, so that she might see the -strangers, she said, in a feeble, though excited tone, "I'm very ill, -you see. I've come a long, long way to die in this lonely forest. I -didn't think once that I should end my days like this." A fit of -coughing came on, and after it was over she lay back exhausted. - -Blanche had never seen anybody very ill before, and she felt rather -afraid of the bright, hollow eyes and the strange sound of the short, -gasping breath, and was much relieved when Morag stepped forward and -put her little brown hand into the white, wasted fingers. The little -girl could not think of anything to say, but she stood, with a pitying -look, holding the hand of the sick woman, who seemed pleased, and smiled -kindly on her. Suddenly she seemed to recollect something, and starting -up, she asked Morag, in an eager tone, "Can you tell me where Glen Eagle -is? it surely can't be far from here;" and before Morag had time to -reply, she added, "Did you ever hear of a Mrs. Macpherson who lives near -there, in a little cottage all alone?" - -Morag pondered for a moment, and then, turning to Blanche, she said, -"Will that no be Kirsty?" - -"Yes, yes; it is Kirsty! Christian was her name. He used to say they -called her Kirsty," exclaimed the sick woman, eagerly. - -Kenneth had been mending a fire which he had kindled between two of the -loose stones. As he got up from his knees to listen, a ray of hope -flitted across his pale, anxious face. - -"Oh, we know Kirsty perfectly well!" burst in Blanche, glad to be able -to say something pleasant. "Morag and I go to see her almost every day. -She is such a nice old woman, and lives in such a pretty cottage!" - -"Do you think you could bring her here to see me?" said the sick woman, -entreatingly. "I do so want to see her once before I die." - -Morag glanced doubtfully at Blanche. "It's no jist terrible far frae -here til Kirsty's cottage; but she hasna been weel, and it's a lang road -for her to come, I'm thinkin'. But I wouldna be long o' runnin' to see." - -"God be thanked. He has granted me the desire of my heart," said the -dying woman, clasping her hands. "The Lord reward you, child. Tell -Christian Macpherson that her Kenneth's wife is lying dying here, and -wants to see her--to come soon--soon," and she sank back, exhausted with -the effort of speaking. - -"We had better start at once, Morag," whispered Blanche, eagerly. "I do -hope Kirsty will be able to come. It is certainly very far for her to -walk. Never mind me, Morag," she added, seeing her friend look perplexed -as to the best course of action. "Of course I shall be hopelessly late; -but I'll tell papa all about it, and I'm sure he won't be angry. He will -have come from the moors, I daresay, by the time we get home." - -"I'm so thirsty; do you think you could find me some water? It might -keep me up till she comes," said the woman, turning wearily to Morag. - -And then a new difficulty arose; for the nearest spring was quite -half-way to Kirsty's cottage, and Morag foresaw that there could not -possibly be time before dark to fetch the supply of water, and bring -Kirsty too; and Kenneth could not go, for the poor woman was evidently -too ill to be left alone. - -"I'll tell you what we must do," said Blanche, quickly perceiving the -difficulty. "I can't go to Kirsty's, because I shouldn't know the way -through the wood, you see! But I can stay with your mother," continued -Blanche, turning to Kenneth, and trying hard to look as if she were -making an ordinary arrangement, she added; "and you can go with Morag -and fetch the water, while she goes on to the cottage." - -It was certainly a great effort for Blanche to make this proposal, but -she was very anxious to be brave and helpful in the midst of this sad -scene, and she insisted on its being carried out, though Morag felt very -doubtful as to the propriety of leaving her bonnie wee leddy all alone -there. Still there seemed no help for it, so she consented at last, and -was soon hurrying towards the spring with Kenneth. They walked along -the narrow path through the forest for a long time without breaking the -silence. At last Kenneth said in a stammering tone, "You've been very -kind to us, strangers; I'll never forget it, and I'm sure mother won't. -I think she'll be all right again when she has seen grandmother. She has -been fretting so about finding her." - -"Is Kirsty Macpherson your grandmother?" said Morag in a surprised tone, -raising her downcast eyes, and looking at Kenneth. "She never telt me -about ye," she added, musingly. - -They had now reached the spring, and Kenneth having quickly filled his -pitcher, and looking gratefully at Morag, turned to retrace his steps in -the direction of the tent. - -The little girl ran on eagerly, more anxious than ever to fulfil her -mission. Emerging from the forest at last, she crossed a small hillock, -and came down at the back of Kirsty's cottage. She found the old woman -seated at the door, knitting busily, as she watched the sunset. The -amber clouds were beginning to gather round the dying sun, and Kirsty -sat watching the cloudland scene with a far-away look in her tranquil -gray eyes. - -"Na! but is this you, my dawtie? I'm richt glad to see ye. I some -thocht ye might be the nicht; but how cam' ye roun' by the back o' the -hoose?" asked Kirsty, smiling as she welcomed her little friend, when -she appeared round the gable of the cottage. - -Instead of answering her question, Morag asked, hurriedly, "Kirsty, will -ye be fit for a good bit o' a walk the nicht, think ye?" - -"Weel, bairn, I wouldna min' a bittie, in this bonnie gloamin'; but I'll -no say I'll gang sae fast or sae far as I ance could hae done," replied -the old woman, smiling at Morag's breathless eagerness. - -"D'ye think ye could gang as far as the other end o' the fir-wood, -Kirsty?" - -"Na, bairn; but I'm thinkin' ye're makin' a fule o' me the nicht. Ye ken -brawly I hinna gaen that length this mony a day," said Kirsty, looking -up with a shade of irritation in her calm face at the thoughtlessness of -her usually considerate little friend. - -"Weel, Kirsty, I'm thinkin' ye'll need to try it the nicht. There's -somebody lyin' there that's terrible anxious to see ye." Morag's voice -trembled, as she continued, "I've a message for ye, Kirsty. Your ain -lost Kenneth's wife is lyin' i' the firwood, and wants to see ye afore -she dees!" - -For a moment Kirsty looked bewildered; but there was no mistaking the -slowly spoken words of the message. Presently she held out her hand to -Morag to help her from her low seat, with a sigh; and, leaning against -the door, she stood thinking. Her usually calm eyes looked hungrily at -the little messenger, and her voice sounded faint and hollow as she -asked, "Is he there himsel?" And then she added, shaking her head, -mournfully, "Na, it couldna be; he would hae come til his mither -surely." - -"There is a Kenneth, but I'm thinkin' he's no yer ain, Kirsty," replied -Morag, with a pitying glance at the poor mother's yearning face. - -"Tak' me til her, Morag. Kenneth's wife!--she's dyin' i' the fir-wood! -The Lord grant me the strength to gang." And the old woman laid her -trembling hand on the little girl's shoulder as she moved to go. - -Very soon they were toiling across the hillock together, and not till -they were far into the forest was the silence broken. - -Meanwhile, Blanche had seated herself on the grey dyke, and was keeping -watch beside the sick woman. It was a strange vigil to keep, alone in -the darkening fir-wood, beside this tossing, wild-eyed, dying woman; -but, somehow, Blanche did not feel frightened in the least degree. Since -she had taken her post, it began to seem the most natural thing in the -world that she should be there. The sick woman took no notice of the -little girl for some time, and, indeed, seemed hardly aware of her -presence, till, turning round suddenly, she saw her seated there, her -fair curls gleaming in the half darkness. She looked at her restlessly -for a little, and said presently, "How came you here, my pretty dear. -You're surely far from home. Will your mamma not be getting anxious -about you? It seems so dark in that wood." - -"I haven't got a mamma," replied Blanche, vivaciously. "Miss Prosser -will be cross, I daresay; but I don't think she'll mind when I explain. -I'm sure Morag won't be longer than she can help in bringing in Kirsty," -added Blanche in a comforting tone, for she noticed that the weary eyes -wandered restlessly toward the entrance of the tent. - -Presently a terrible fit of a breathlessness came on, and the poor woman -sank back exhausted on her hard stone pillow when it was over. Blanche -gazed pityingly at the sufferer, and longed for the morrow, when she -meant to return with various needful comforts. She had made up her mind -to enlist Mrs. Worthy's sympathy, believing her to be more amiable than -Ellis. - -Meanwhile, she took off her soft jacket, and folding it, she slipped it -under the poor restless head on the hard stone. The sick woman noticed -the pleasant change, and smiled gratefully. And as Blanche looked at -her, she thought how pretty she must once have been, before the cheeks -had got so hollow, and the eyes so sunken. - -It was beginning to get very dark within the tent, and Blanche was not -sorry to see Kenneth make his appearance with his pitcher filled with -clear water from the spring. The sick woman seemed greatly refreshed by -the draught, which she drank eagerly. But presently, she began to get -very restless, and kept moaning, "Kenny! Kenny! are they not within -sight yet? It's so long since that little girl went away." - -At last, after Kenneth had drawn aside the tartan folds several times, -he brought back the news that the little girl and an old bent woman were -coming through the trees. - -"Oh, it's all right!--Kirsty and Morag--here they come!" cried Blanche, -joyfully, as she sprung out to meet them, saying eagerly to Kirsty, "Do -come quickly; she's so very anxious to see you, Kirsty!" - -The old woman made no reply, but walked silently towards the tent, -looking intently at Kenneth, who stood in front of it. "My ain Kenneth's -bairn," she murmured, as she laid her trembling hand on his head. Morag -heard him say, "Grandmother, we've found you at last! Mother will be so -glad!" and he led her to where the dying woman lay, and the tartan folds -shut them out from sight. - -In the meantime, two figures might be seen wandering through the forest, -searching hither and thither in all directions. They were Ellis and the -keeper, who had started in company to look for the missing girls. -Blanche's maid was in a state of high nervous agitation concerning her -little mistress. She had been consigning her to various imaginary -harrowing fates since she left the castle in search of her, but the -keeper had smiled his grim smile, and assured her that girls were like -kittens, and had nine lives. Nevertheless, he too began to feel rather -anxious about them, after he had reluctantly led the way to Kirsty's -cottage, where he expected to find them safely housed; but, to his -surprise, they found it quite tenantless. Ellis began to wring her -hands in despair when she detected a shade of anxiety on the keeper's -face, after the neighborhood of the cottage had been searched without -any result. Then Dingwall decided that the fir-wood must be thoroughly -explored, for he knew that it was one of Morag's favorite haunts. They -wandered on, searching everywhere, till at last the keeper's keen eye -discovered, through the fir-trees, the dark tent resting against the old -dyke, with its back-ground of pale larches. He began to feel rather -uneasy, and to wish that he had brought some defensive weapon with him, -for there was no trace of the girls, and it was more than likely they -had been picked up by the gypsies, and sharp measures might be necessary -for their recovery. He did not, however, confide his fears to Ellis, but -went forward to take a nearer inspection of the encampment. - -Meanwhile, the little girls were hovering about the tent, wondering what -would happen next. Morag had quite made up her mind that the wee leddy -must instantly be conducted homewards, and was relieved to find that she -was not unwilling to go--the reason being that Blanche was full of -hospitable ideas concerning the dwellers under the tartan, and she felt -impatient to get home again to enlist all the sympathy possible in -their favor. - -Morag, before starting for the castle, had gone to reconnoitre a little -round the tent, to try to find an opportunity of whispering to Kirsty -that she would return presently, provided her father would allow her. -Just at that moment, Blanche spied Ellis and the keeper hovering about -among the trees, and ran forward to meet them. - -Ellis's anxiety immediately changed to indignation when she perceived -that her little mistress was safe and sound, and she was about to break -forth in angry words of remonstrance when Blanche held up a warning -finger and pointed to the tent, which the little fire within was making -more visible in the darkness. - -"Gypsies, I declare!" shrieked Ellis. "You've been kidnapped. We're just -in time to save her!" she added, wringing her hands, and turning to the -keeper, who in his turn began to feel a shade of anxiety regarding his -Morag, as she was nowhere visible. - -"Hush, Ellis; they aren't gypsies a bit. There is a very sick woman -lying there--dying, she says, but I hope she isn't quite that. They are -strangers, and have come a long way." - -"Didn't I tell you? They always come from the hends of the earth. -Gypsies, as sure's my name's Ellis. Are you kidnapped, missie--tell me -now?" But Blanche appeared still in possession of a wonderful amount of -freedom, and glanced with an amused smile at the keeper as she listened -to her maid's suggestions. So Ellis continued, in an angry tone-- - -"What have you ever been about so long, missie? Miss Prosser's well-nigh -into a fit about you, and Mrs. Worthy says she can't sit two minutes in -one place for anxiety. And there's cook, as declares she has miscooked -master's dinner for the first time in her life--all on account of her -hagitation concernin' you." And Ellis went on to give a chronicle of the -various distracted feelings of each separate member of the household. - -"Has papa come home, then? and what did he say about my being so late?" -interposed Blanche at last. - -"Oh, well, you see the master is a quiet gentleman, and never does make -much ado," replied Ellis, rather crestfallen that she had nothing -sensational to narrate from that quarter. "But he said we would be sure -to find you at that old woman what's-her-name's cottage, where you're so -fond of going to; and you see we didn't. Really, missie, it's too bad! -I'm near wore off my feet between the fear and the draggin' after you. -I only hope you won't be let go out at the door again without Miss -Prosser--that's all I've got to say." - -Blanche hoped it was, but she feared not. She had a painful -consciousness that she was jacketless, and felt certain that, sooner or -later, that fact would be discovered and inquired into. - -Meanwhile, Morag joined them, not having been able to get a word with -Kirsty, though she could hear her voice mingle soothingly with the -eager, gasping tones of the dying woman, who appeared to have a great -deal to say to this long-sought friend. Morag seemed to feel more relief -than alarm at the sight of Ellis in possession of her little charge. But -when she discovered her father's tall form leaning against one of her -pillars of fir, she started, and looked nervously towards the tent. The -keeper accosted her rather sternly, saying, "I wonder at ye, Morag. I -thocht ye had mair wit--takin' up wi' a set o' tinkers, and bidin' oot -so lang, forby." - -Morag did not venture to explain the cause of their delay, nor did she -mention that Kirsty Macpherson was so near at hand. She observed that, -though her father seemed quite willing now that she should go to see -the old woman, yet he evidently wished to avoid meeting her; and Morag -felt sure that to disclose the fact that Kirsty was one of the alleged -tinkers within the tartan folds, would not help to smooth matters. - -"Missie! wherever is your jacket?--well, I never!" screamed the maid, -with uplifted hands, when, for the first time, she observed the absence -of that garment. - -"My jacket? Oh, never mind, Ellis; it isn't cold," replied Blanche, -looking rather uneasy, but attempting to assume a careless tone. - -"Never mind! Did I ever know the like? Where's your jacket, missie? I -insist on knowing!" screeched the excited Ellis. "Stolen by them -vagrants you've been a-takin' up with, I'll be bound," and the maid -looked at the keeper, as if she thought he ought to take immediate steps -towards the recovery of the stolen property. - -Morag glanced anxiously at Blanche. She did not know what had become of -the missing jacket, and she began to wonder whether it could have been -dropped in their flight from the supposed dangerous gypsy. She was about -to suggest that she might go to look for it, when the indignant Ellis -continued-- - -"Well, keeper, what _is_ to be done? You see Miss Blanche doesn't even -deny that they've stolen her jacket--her beautiful ermine one, too. I -gave it her on because she sneezed this morning. Pity there isn't a -policeman to set at them," snorted Ellis, in great wrath, as she glanced -at the keeper, who stood stolid and immovable, looking at Blanche. - -The little lady began to feel at bay, and, being again challenged by her -maid to tell what had become of the missing garment, she planted herself -against a fir-tree, and flinging back her curls, she folded her arms, -saying in a dramatic tone-- - -"Now, Ellis, listen! I'd rather suffer all the tortures we read of -yesterday at Kirsty's, in Foxe's Book of Martyrs, than tell you where -that jacket is!" - -Morag had been about to expostulate with the wee leddy; but now she felt -much too awed to utter a word. As she stood gazing at her, the fir-tree -was immediately transformed in her imagination to a stake, and visions -of lighted faggots and rising flames coursed through her brain. Ellis, -too, seemed rather impressed, and Blanche took advantage of her position -to remark in her most imperious tone, as she quitted her dramatic pose, -"Now, Ellis, if you say another word about that jacket, I shan't go -home with you a step. Perhaps to-morrow I may tell you what has become -of it," she added, bending her head graciously, as she volunteered to -start for home under these conditions. - -At this juncture, Kirsty suddenly emerged from the tartan folds. She had -been reminded that the little girls still waited by hearing the sound of -voices, and she came now to urge them to return home at once. - -The moon was now giving a clear, plentiful light. It shone on Kirsty's -placid face, and showed her another face which she had not looked on for -many a year, and it seemed strange that she should see it to-night. The -keeper looked as much startled as if he had seen a ghost, when the old -woman moved slowly towards him, and holding out her hand, said, -solemnly, "Alaster Dingwall, is that you?" and still holding his hand, -she added, "Weel do I min' the nicht I saw ye last. But come ben, and -hear o' the goodness o' the Lord frae this dyin' woman. Eh! but He's -slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. The soul o' my lang-lost Kenneth -is safe wi' Himsel'. He has granted me the desire o' my hert. Com ben, -and see Kenneth's wife!" - -Dingwall's usually inflexible face showed traces of strong emotion as -he listened to Kirsty. He made no reply, but was about to follow her -into the tent, when Ellis, more mystified than ever by these strange -dealings with these disreputable gypsies, who had already given her so -much trouble that afternoon, shouted in angry tones, "Well, keeper, if -you're going to stay in this wood longer, I'm not. Come along, missie, -we must find our own way as best we can." And without waiting for a -reply, the indignant maid hurried off with her reluctant charge. - -Morag stood watching her father, as he followed Kirsty, bending his tall -figure to creep into the low tent, and then she sat down on the old grey -dyke outside, to await the next scene of this strange evening. She could -not help feeling very glad that her father and Kirsty were going to be -friends at last, though it was such a sorrowful occasion which seemed to -have brought the reconciliation about. Presently she saw Kenneth slip -out of the tent, looking very grave and sad. He came and leant silently -against one of the fir-trees, and stood gazing into the pale larch -plantation, with its long dark grass shimmering in the white moonlight. -Morag knew that he was looking so sorrowful because his mother was going -to leave him, and she felt very sorry too, and longed to be able to do -something to comfort him; but she thought that perhaps it was best to -keep quite quiet there, and let him think his own thoughts. She wondered -whether Kenneth knew and loved his grandmother's Friend, and was able -now to tell Him all his trouble. - -When the keeper entered the tent, the dying woman fixed her great -restless eyes upon him, and looked questioningly at Kirsty. The old -woman stooped down, and said, "It's Alaster Dingwall--him, ye ken, that -was Kenneth's"--friend, she was going to say; and then she glanced sadly -at the keeper, and did not finish her sentence. But presently she added, -"Eh! but He's been good and forgien us muckle, and we maun be willin' to -forgie," and taking the thin, white fingers, she laid them in the -keeper's broad, brown palm. - -"Yes, yes," gasped the woman; "I remember the name. My husband said -something about him when he was dying, too; but I can't recollect now." -Her memories of the troubled past were growing dim in the haze of death. - -"My boy, where is he?" she asked, presently, turning to Kirsty. "I've -brought him to you--you'll love him for your own Kenneth's sake, won't -you? He's a good boy; it's hard to leave him in this wicked world -alone; but you will look to him, won't you?" and she looked beseechingly -at Kirsty. "We've travelled many a weary mile to reach you--he'll tell -you all about it after. But it's all over now--all past, and the rest is -coming," she murmured, and then she lay quite still for a few minutes, -and her lips moved as if in prayer. - -Presently she seemed to remember something, and, putting her hand into -her breast, she drew out a little bag with one or two gold pieces in it. -Handing it to Kirsty, she said, "It's all there is left--he's very -ragged I'm afraid, and I'll be to bury. But you are good and kind, he -always said, and you'll be kind to my boy, for Christ's sake, and for -your own Kenneth's, grandmother, won't you? I haven't remembered all his -messages, I'm so tired to-night. He wanted your forgiveness so much--but -you'll see him again--we'll both be waiting you and Kenny!" - -"Eh! my bairn; but ye mauna forget that a sicht o' Christ's ain face -will be better than a' the lave," said the old woman earnestly, as she -wiped the cold damps of death from the white forehead. - -"It's so cold, and gets so very dark," she moaned restlessly. "There -was a candle left in the basket, I think; why doesn't Kenny light it? -Where is he? why does he go away?" - -The candle was already burning near its socket, and Kirsty saw that the -haze of death was fast dimming the eyes that would see no more till they -awoke in that city "where they need no candle, neither light of the sun, -for the glory of God doth lighten it; and there shall be no night -there." - -The old woman went to call Kenneth, who was still leaning silently -against the fir-tree. "Come ben to yer mither, my laddie! Ye winna hae -lang to bide wi' her noo, I'm thinkin'." And the boy came and knelt -beside his mother. The keeper had been standing with folded arms, -looking silently on, but now he crept away, and sitting down in a corner -of the tent, he covered his face with his hands. The sins of his youth -came crowding to his memory; one dark spot stood out in terrible relief, -and made him cower with shame and remorse in the presence of this boy, -and his mother on her lowly dying bed. - -Meanwhile, Kirsty went out to look for Morag, whom she had not -forgotten. Seeing her seated on the old dyke, she beckoned to her, -saying, "Come awa, dawtie, dinna bide there yer lane! Puir thing, she -winna be lang here, noo. It's a sair sicht for a young hert, but come -ben, Morag. 'Deed they're best aff that's nearest their journey's end," -murmured the old woman, as she stepped under the tartan folds again. - -Morag followed, and stood gazing sorrowfully at the dying woman. She had -been lying quietly for several minutes, but presently she looked wildly -round, and, stretching out her arms, she cried, "Kenny, Kenny, lift me -up!" - -Kirsty stepped forward, and raised the weary head on her arm, saying, in -her low, firm tones, "Dinna be feert, my bairn. The valley is dark -eneuch, but there's licht on the tither side. Jist ye haud His han' -siccar, and ye'll see His face gin lang." For a few moments she lay -peacefully, with her hand resting on Kirsty's breast, but presently a -great spasm of agony crossed the wasted face, some lingering breaths -were drawn, and the poor, quivering frame lay at rest. - -Neither of the children knew that it was death. After a long silence -Kenneth rose from his knees, and whispered to Kirsty--"She's gone to -sleep; we must not wake her for a while--it's so long since she slept -before." - -"Ay, ay, my laddie," replied Kirsty, shaking her head, mournfully; -"she's gane to sleep, til her lang, lang sleep. Nae soun' o' ours will -waken her noo; it will be His ain blessed voice i' the Day that's -comin'." - -Poor Kenneth understood now. With a low cry of agony, he knelt beside -the body, which Kirsty had laid tenderly on its lowly bed among the -brown fir-needles again. And as she did so, Morag caught a glimpse of -the wee leddy's missing jacket; she understood now why she was so -vehemently unwilling that it should be searched for. - -The keeper had been a silent spectator of the sad scene. At last he -turned to Kirsty, and brushing a tear from his eye, he said, in a husky -voice--"Kirsty, woman, I've whiles afore rued yon dark nicht's work sore -eneuch, and all that came o't, but I niver rued it sae muckle as I do -the nicht." - -"Dinna say nae mair, Alaster Dingwall," replied Kirsty, holding out her -hand. "I'll no say that it wasna sair upo' me for mony a day, but I see -it a' the nicht. Ye were jist the instrument in His hands for sendin' -the puir prodigal safe hame til the Father's hoose. Will you no come -intilt yersel', man? The far countrie o' sin is an unca lonesome place, -Alaster Dingwall," and Kirsty laid her hand on his arm, and looked -earnestly into his face. - -"It's no easy wark for an auld sinner like me, Kirsty; but, I'll try," -Dingwall replied, as he glanced kindly and pityingly at the orphan boy, -and lifted him from his dead mother's side. - -"Noo, keeper, ye and Morag mauna bide a minute longer. The puir lassie -maun be deid tired," said Kirsty, rousing herself to think what must be -done next. "I'se watch aside the corp; and maybe, when the morn's come, -ye'll hae the kindness to speir gin the wricht i' the village will come -ootby here, and we'll lay her in her lang hame, and the puir laddie will -come hame and bide wi' me." - -The keeper would not hear of leaving her, and Morag seated herself on -the dyke, saying quietly, "I canna be goin' home and leavin' Kirsty, -father." - -The poor boy seemed so faint from grief and fasting, that Dingwall at -last decided to take him away from the sorrowful scene, and to leave -Morag, who determinately clung to her old friend. - -Kenneth stood gazing mournfully at the silent form, murmuring, "Mother, -mother!" in a low monotone of agony. He would not be persuaded to quit -the spot till Kirsty unfastened the tartan plaid from the stakes, and -laying it reverently on the body, she covered the dead face out of -sight. And as she unwound the plaid from its fastenings, she remembered -with a sharp pang of sorrow the morning on which she had last seen that -old plaid. While the keeper and Kenneth are wandering through the -fir-wood on their way to the shieling among the crags, and the old -woman, with Morag by her side, keeps her strange, lonely watch beside -the dead, we shall explain why it was so terrible for the keeper to -remember, and so difficult for Kirsty to forget, the events of a certain -night long years ago, which had driven the older Kenneth from the Glen -an outlawed man, and left his mother a desolate, childless woman. - -Kirsty's husband had been the village smith. He was a much-liked and -respected inhabitant of the little hamlet. He was suddenly cut off by -fever at a comparatively early age, leaving his wife one son, who was -henceforth to be her sole earthly hope and care. The smith had been a -sober and diligent man, and Kirsty was a frugal housewife, so a little -money was saved, and the widow had been able to move to the pretty -cottage in the Glen, which had been her home ever since. - -Kirsty had one earthly ambition, and one which she shared in common -with many a Scotch peasant--namely, that her son should become a -scholar. This desire seemed, however, to meet with no response from the -boy himself. He hated books, and loved, above all things, to roam about -the Glen, finding his pleasure there, frequently, when he should have -been at school in the village. Thither every quarter-day his mother duly -went, full of anxiety to hear about his progress, and with the school -fees wrapt in a corner of her pocket-handkerchief, while a small -offering for the schoolmaster's wife, from the garden or barn-yard, was -never forgotten. But she always returned from these visits crestfallen -and grieved. "He does not take to his books, Mrs. Macpherson; I fear -we'll never be able to make a scholar of him," the parish schoolmaster -would say, shaking his head, and adding, as he noticed the mother's -disappointed face, "He's a fine, manly, truthful boy, though; you'll -find he will be good for something yet." - -But Kirsty was not satisfied, and went on praying that God would give -her son a hearing ear and an understanding heart in things intellectual -and spiritual. And so the years of boyhood passed, and Kenneth grew up -a great anxiety to his widowed mother. Sometimes he would leave home for -whole nights and days of rambling among the hills with other lads. He -was an immense favorite among his companions, and their chosen leader in -every wild exploit. Bold and frank and fearless he certainly was, and -possessed much of seeming unselfishness, but it was a quality of a very -different kind from that which his mother practised at home. Nobody -could wile so many trouts from the river as Kenneth; and nobody so -generously shared his basketful among his comrades. He knew every foot -of the Glen by heart, every lonely pass, each deceptive bog. He had set -his heart on being a gamekeeper, but his mother looked upon it as an -idle trade, and always hoped that he might yet show some leaning towards -another employment. - -Alaster Dingwall was many years older than Kenneth, though a great -friendship sprang up between the two. Dingwall had been under-gamekeeper -at some distance from the Glen, but he had lost his situation, and -returned to lounge about the village, on the outlook for work. He -admired the bold, reckless young Kenneth, and the boy was greatly -attracted by his older companion, and felt flattered by his -appreciation. Kirsty noticed that the companionship only served to -foster Kenneth's idle habits, and she did all she could to discourage -it, but in vain. - -One Sunday evening Kenneth had been induced to stay quietly indoors, and -sat reading to his mother, who was feeling intensely happy in having him -with her. But presently she heard a whistle outside, which she had -learned to know and dread, for she knew that it was a summons for her -boy to join his idle companions. - -"That's Dingwall's whustle; I ken it fine. Dinna gang out til him, -Kenny--bide wi' me the nicht, my laddie. He'll no want ye for ony guid." - -But the warning, "My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou not," -fell unheeded on the foolish Kenneth's ear, and a sorrowful reaping-time -for all after-life was the result of this brief sowing-time of folly. - -"It's only for a bit o' a walk, mother. There's no ill," pleaded -Kenneth, as he hurriedly shut the book; and taking his bonnet, he -prepared to go out. "I'll no be long, mother," he added, as he went out -whistling, and Kirsty could hear through the clear frosty air his merry -laugh re-echoing among his companions, and stood listening to it at the -door of the cottage till the sound died away in the distance. Then the -mother went back to the empty room, and prayed for her son till the grey -morning broke, and still he did not return. - -At last she crept away to bed, and in the morning she was awakened from -her troubled slumbers by a loud knocking. On opening the door, she saw -Kenneth standing, pale and haggard, with blood-besmeared clothes, -between two strange men. One of them stepped forward, and said to the -bewildered Kirsty-- - -"Sorry for it, missus; but this chap must go with me. Found a snare set -in the larch plantation yonder--all but caught him at it, in fact. It's -not the first offence, I'm thinking. There's been a deal of poaching -lately in the neighborhood; but we've caught the thief at last." - -"Mother, I didna do it! I never set the snare! I didna even ken that it -was amang the grass!" gasped Kenneth, looking pleadingly at his mother, -as if he cared more that she should not think him guilty of the deed -than for the serious consequences which seemed to threaten him, whether -he was guilty or not. And his mother looked into his eyes and knew that -he was innocent, as indeed he was. He had been simply used as a tool by -his false friend. - -Since he had been out of employment, Dingwall had gained his livelihood -by poaching. But, having reason to suspect at last that he was being -watched, he resolved to shift the suspicions on Kenneth by enlisting him -in the service, and offering him a share of the gains. He thought, too, -that if the offence were discovered, it was more likely to be lightly -treated if the offender were a mere boy, like Kenneth, so he resolved on -that evening to divulge the plan to his boy-friend, who, as yet, was -entirely ignorant of the way in which Dingwall gained a livelihood, and -little guessed on what mission he was being led into the larch -plantation. - -Kenneth had seated himself on the lichen-spotted dyke to smoke, while -the more cautious, because guilty, Dingwall stood darkly by, having -slipped his pipe into his pocket long before they reached the wood. He -was pondering how he should best confide his secret to Kenneth, and was -about to propose that he would show him the snare which he had set, -when his keen eye detected traces of danger and discovery. He -immediately crept away in base silence to hide himself, and presently -his innocent boy-friend was seized by the emissaries of the law. Then -Kenneth understood that he had been betrayed; but he would not betray in -return. He simply asserted that he had not set the snare, and knew -nothing whatever about it. - -"Come, come, now; that's all very fine--didn't do it, forsooth. Strange -place for a walk on a winter night--the larch plantation," said the man, -smiling sneeringly to his companion, as he listened to Kenneth assuring -his mother that he was innocent, while they stood at the cottage door. - -"Come along with us. In the meantime," he continued, as he laid his hand -on Kenneth's arm to drag him away, "if you're able to prove that you -didn't do it, all the better for you, my boy, I can tell you." - -Kenneth turned with a look of anguish to his mother, who stood gazing at -him with a face of marble. She asked no questions; it was no time for -reproaches then, and, somehow, Kenneth felt that she understood how it -had all happened, she looked so pitiful and so loving. When she saw that -the men were really going to take him away, she went and prepared him -some breakfast; but Kenneth said he could not eat, and turning to the -men, volunteered to accompany them at once. He looked cold and faint in -that chilly November morning: and just as he was starting, his mother -brought his father's plaid, and wrapped it tenderly round him, but she -did not utter a word. - -"Come now, there must be no more coddling of this bird, old lady! Time's -valuable, and there isn't a minute to spare!" said the man roughly, as -he led the boy away. - -When Kenneth had got beyond the garden gate, and was being hurried along -the highway by his jailer, he turned and looked with unutterable agony -and remorse toward his mother, who stood, stricken and desolate, at the -door of his home, which was to be blighted during so many years for his -sake. - -A few weeks afterwards he was tried, and sentenced to a short term of -imprisonment. He had pleaded not guilty; but could not explain how he -came to be in the larch plantation at such an hour, and declined to give -any information concerning the real offender. - -Kirsty knew him to be none other than Alaster Dingwall. In her anguish -she went to him, and implored that he would not sacrifice the innocent, -speaking burning words from the depths of her broken mother's heart; but -she only met with the sneering rejoinder that she would find some -difficulty in proving that he had anything to do with the matter. - -And then the news came that the wretched boy had escaped from prison; -and from that day forward Kirsty heard nothing of her son. Seventeen -long years she sat at her lonely fireside, waiting, and hoping, and -praying! For a long time she left the door nightly open, in the hope -that he might at least come and visit her in the dark. But he never -came; and long ago Kirsty's deferred hope had changed itself into a -prayer, that wherever he might be roaming throughout the wide world, -they might meet in the home of God at last. - -Sometimes, after a long night of prayer for her lost son, the mother -felt as if she heard a voice, saying, "I have seen his ways, and I will -heal him;" and she would begin the lonely day with lightened heart. And -now, at last, she had the joy of knowing from the lips of his dying wife -that the wanderer, who feared to come again to the Glen, and had sought -refuge for his blighted life in distant lands, had, at last, been led -unto the fold above, and had learnt to know the Shepherd's voice, and to -follow it in the midst of many earthly trials and hard experiences -through which he had to pass. - -So this sorrowful night was mingled with great joy to Kirsty, as she -kept watch in the fir-wood. Morag felt sure that she must have much to -say to her unseen Friend, as she sat resting her head on her long thin -hand, and gazing into the red embers among the stones. The little girl -crouched silently by her side, often glancing at the tartan folds that -covered the weary sleeper below, and pondering over the events of this -strange afternoon. - -And as she sat keeping vigil, there came to her memory the story of a -very sorrowful night, of which she had been reading with Kirsty only the -day before. It was the scene in the old garden of Gethsemane, where the -Lord Jesus Christ spent those terrible hours, "exceeding sorrowful even -unto death." - -It was the first time that Morag had heard of it, and the hot tears of -pity stole down her face as she listened. Kirsty had looked up, and said -gently, as she laid her hand on her head, "Bairn, I dinna wonder though -ye greet. It was a sair dark nicht i' the history o' the warl'. But jist -ye read a bittie farther on, aboot how they garred Him tak' His ain -cross up the brae; the women grat for verra pity, and syne He turned -Himsel', and spak' til them, sayin', 'Daughters o' Jerooslem, weep no -for me, but for yersels and for yer children.'" And Morag thought that -she understood why Jesus was called the "Lamb of God, who taketh away -the sin of the world." - -At last the chill grey morning light came stealing through the dark -green boughs and among the tall fir-trees. Presently the lonely watch -was broken by the arrival of messengers from the castle, bringing with -them every comfort which could be stowed away in a huge hamper. - -"'Deed it's richt mindfu' o' the wee leddy o' the castle to sen' sic a -hantle o' things," said Kirsty, rising slowly to receive the servants. -"An' I'm thinkin' she left her bonnie white coatie yestreen to mak' a -safter heid for the puir lamb. Ye'll jist tak' it wi ye noo, gin it -please ye, sirs--and a' the ither things, forby. We dinna need them -here. Tell ye the wee leddy that the puir weary craeter she saw lyin' -sae low yestreen i' the fir-wood is awa this mornin' among the green -pasters and the still waters o' the Father's hoose, where there's nae -mair hunger, nor sorrow, nor cryin', for the auld things hae passed -awa." - - - - -IX. - -_VANITY FAIR._ - - -IT was nearly the end of September now, the air of Glen Eagle began to -feel chilly, and the purple bloom was fading from the hills, but the -interior of Kirsty's cottage looked as warm and bright as ever, when one -afternoon Blanche Clifford came bounding in with glowing cheeks, after a -race across the heather, followed by Morag, to pay a visit to their old -friend. - -Kenneth had just been piling one or two sturdy birk logs on the -peat-fire, in preparation for their arrival. His grandmother's cottage -was his home now; the cheery fire which he had just made was quite a -fitting emblem of the brightness which he had brought into the lonely -dwelling. His mother had been laid in the quiet grave-yard on the -hillside, and the boy often stole out in the gloaming to hover round the -fresh-laid turf. He seldom, however, spoke of the past, and already -began to lose his careworn expression, which had so touched the hearts -of the little girls in the fir-wood. Indeed he appeared daily to gain -strength and manliness; while Kirsty watched the change with mingled -feelings, remembering a Kenneth of other days, whose strength had once -been her pride. - -"How nice and cosy you do always look here!" exclaimed Blanche, glancing -round the room, as she seated herself on Thrummy at Kirsty's feet. "When -I'm an old woman, I mean to have a room exactly like this. I couldn't -endure to live in a house with so many rooms as papa's, or as Aunt -Matilda's. One never knows in which room they may be sitting, and can -never picture them to one's self if you are away, and want to think of -them. Now, Kirsty, when I go back to London, I shall always be able to -think of you just as you are now," said the little girl, as she laid her -hands on the lap of her old peasant friend. Kirsty was seated in the -ingleneuk in her high-elbowed chair, knitting placidly. Her fingers -moved rapidly round the rough blue stocking which she had in progress, -but her eyes rested kindly on Blanche, and she smiled as she listened to -her pleasant prattle. She, too, as well as Morag, had learnt to love -this little English maiden, with her pretty, gracious ways, who had -made herself so happy in the Highland glen, and showed such warm -friendship for them all. Since the weather became colder, the scene of -the reading lessons had been transferred from the fir-wood to the _ben -end_ of the cottage, and the old woman was always an interested -listener, often unravelling knotty points by her shrewd remarks and wise -decisions. - -Sometimes, too, Blanche would entertain her Highland friends with -descriptions of the world beyond the mountains, and expatiate on the -many marvels of the great city she lived in. Morag's eye would dilate -with wonder and awe as she described the grand old Abbey, filled with -the dust of kings and statesmen, soldiers and poets, or dwelt on the -varied delights of a day at the Crystal Palace or the Kensington Museum. - -After Morag's fingers had laboriously travelled over a few pages of the -"Pilgrim's Progress," she begged that Blanche would read a little. The -little mountain maiden's reading capacities did not at all keep pace -with her desire to know; and now she sat, coiled up at Kirsty's feet, -listening with eager interest, as the wee leddy's clear voice flowed -pathetically on, concerning the cruel treatment which the Pilgrims -received from the people of Vanity Fair. - -"Vanity Fair!--how funny!" exclaimed Blanche, as she tossed back her -curls and looked up. "Do you know, Kirsty, there is a place in London, -called Hyde Park, where I sometimes go to drive and ride with papa, -though not nearly so often as I should like. Well, Kirsty, I remember -one afternoon when we were there, papa met an old, very old -gentleman--rather queer looking--whom he hadn't seen for ever so long. -He held out his hand to papa, and I remember he said, 'Well, Arthur, you -didn't expect to meet me in Vanity Fair, I daresay?' and then he -laughed; and I wanted to ask papa afterwards what he meant, but I -suppose I forgot. But, Kirsty, it surely can't be the same place where -they were so unkind to the poor pilgrims, and called them names, could -it?" - -"'Deed, bairn, but I'm nae sae sure o' that noo. The Apostle Paul says -that the carnal hert is enmity agin' God. And dinna ye min' how the -Maister says Himsel', 'Marvel not though the warl' hate ye. Ye know that -it hated me afore it hated you.' But forbid that I should say He hasna a -remnant o' His ain intilt, bairn," said Kirsty, as she noticed Blanche's -troubled face. "It's His ain prayer til His Father, ye ken, no to tak' -them oot o' the warl', but to keep them frae the evil," she added -solemnly. - -"Oh! but indeed, Kirsty, I am sure that none of the people in the Park -could possibly be cruel to the poor pilgrims," replied Blanche, rather -on the defensive. "There are such pretty ladies and gentlemen, riding -and driving about; I'm sure they wouldn't hurt anybody. I like so much -to go to the Park! and papa says, when I'm grown up and have quite -finished lessons, that I may go there to ride or drive every day, if I -like. I'm sure I wish the time were come!" and the prospect seemed so -inspiring that Blanche jumped up, upsetting Thrummy in her progress -round the earthen floor in a gleeful waltz. - -Morag's eyes followed her bonnie wee leddy wistfully. Somehow her heart -sank at the vista which seemed to stretch out, so fair and pleasant, in -Blanche's eyes. They were play-fellows now, but how would it be in these -days to come, when her little friend merged into one of these grand -ladies whom she had been describing? - -Presently Blanche picked up her stool, and came to seat herself at -Kirsty's feet again. - -"Eh, my bonny lambie!" murmured the old woman, as she stroked the -little girl's golden crown. "May the Guid Shepherd Himsel' gather ye in -His ain arms, and carry ye intil His bosom a' thro' the slippy places, -and keep ye a bonnie white lambie, til he tak's ye safe hame til the -fauld!" - -Morag did not say "Amen" audibly, for she had not yet learnt that -conventional ending to a petition. But none the less did she join Kirsty -in fervent asking, that the Lord Jesus Christ would preserve their -bonnie wee leddy amid all the dangers of this terrible Vanity Fair, -which had proved so full of perils for the pilgrims in the story. - -A shade of seriousness stole across Blanche's face as Kirsty's long thin -fingers played among her hair, while she uttered this blessing-prayer; -but the shadow did not linger long there. The little girl had never -thought of life as being difficult and dangerous, and did not feel the -need of a friend and guide. Moreover, she did not like anything that -made her feel serious, so she quickly closed the book, and, restoring it -to its place on the shelf, ran away to the cottage door, warbling a gay -song, as she plucked some berries from one of the old rowan trees to -make a wreath for Morag, and crown her queen of gypsies. - -Presently the old woman came and seated herself on the door-step. Her -knitting was in her hand, but it lay idly on her lap, and she sat -watching the little girl with tear-dimmed eyes. She trembled for the -many snares and dangers which the days to come would be sure to bring to -the beautiful high-born child. But Kirsty forgot that there were -shorter, safer, smoother paths to the golden city than through the many -windings of Vanity Fair. - -"I have just been to old Neil's, grandmother," said Kenneth, as he -walked in at the little gate on his return from a message to the carrier -of the Glen. "He says he'll be happy to oblige you with the cart on -Sunday for the kirk. He'll not be able to go himself, because of his -rheumatism; but he is to lend the cart if I'll yoke the horse." - -"I'm richt glaid to hear't, laddie," replied Kirsty. "It's mony a -Sawbbath day sin' I ha' been i' the kirk. 'Deed I thocht never to sit at -His table upon the earth anither time." - -"Morag, hae ye speird gin yer father be gaein' to lat ye gang wi' me til -the kirk?" - -"Ay, Kirsty, I've been askin' him, but he hasna said yet. I'm no -thinkin' he'll do't, though. But he said he would see yersel' afore -that time. Maybe he'll be up the nicht." - -"Oh, Kirsty, are you really going to that pretty little church in the -village on Sunday? Do let me go with you; I want so to see the inside of -it," chimed in Blanche, eagerly. "It will be so much nicer than reading -prayers with Miss Prosser in that dreadful school-room." - -"Weel, I'se be richt glaid to tak' ye wi' me, bairn, gin yer folk doesna -objec'; but I'm no thinkin' they would lat ye gang ava. It's a lang -road, and, ye see, we'll jist hae Neil's cartie, wi' a puckle strae -intilt, and that'll maybe no be fit for the like o' you." - -"Oh, yes, of course it would--perfectly delicious," cried Blanche, -clapping her hands. "I must really go with you, Kirsty. I shall ask papa -to-night, if I have a chance; it would be such fun, wouldn't it, Morag?" - -"Sawbbath'll be a gran' day. It's the Sacrament wi' us, ye ken," said -Kirsty looking up from her knitting. "But I'm thinkin' it wad be ower -langsome like for you bairns,--though I'se houp there's a day comin' -when ye'll be sittin' doon til the table yersels, and meetin' wi' -Himsel' there," continued the old woman, as she gazed kindly at the -little group. - -"Oh, is it really the Holy Communion; and may we children stay? I should -like above all things to see it; shouldn't you, Morag? Miss Prosser -always sends me home with Ellis when she stays to Communion. But then it -doesn't last very long at all. For by the time that I've spoken to -Chance and my birds, she has always come home again. But, perhaps, it is -something quite different here, is it not, Kirsty?" - -"Weel, I'm thinkin' there will be some differ from what I hae heerd -tell. But eh, bairn, I mak' nae doobt that He feeds His ain folk the -richt gait, in ilka part o' His warl'." - -"Here's yer father comin' inby, Morag!" said Kirsty, as she rose to -welcome the keeper, whom she saw leaning against the garden gate, -looking at the group round the cottage door. - -The keeper had become a frequent visitor at Kirsty's cottage since that -eventful evening in the fir-wood. Often, when the work of the day was -done, he might be seen wandering across the moor in the gloaming, in the -direction of the abode which he had viewed for so many years with -mingled feelings of dislike and fear. - -Many a pleasant talk the old woman and he seemed to have together, and -the keeper appeared more at ease and happy in Kirsty's society than he -had been with any mortal for many a day. His face already began to lose -the sinister expression which had made Blanche distrust him on that -first day when she saw him. He did not say the bitter things which he -used to do about his neighbors in the Glen, and no longer prided himself -in looking dark and mysterious and self-contained, but seemed more happy -with himself, and, consequently, with the rest of the world. - -Morag felt, with a daily, hourly, silent gladness, that a change for the -better had come to her father. To her he had never been positively -unkind, but now he was more gentle and genial than she had ever known -him. Already the little shieling among the crags began to show traces of -the brighter days which were dawning. The evenings were no longer dreary -and monotonous as they used to be. For the company of books had been -summoned from the old _kist_, where they had been buried so long, and -they proved very pleasant companions to both father and daughter. -Dingwall would occasionally read aloud to Morag as she worked; and thus -finally proved that his former dislike to reading had not arisen from an -ignorance of the art, as Morag had sometimes suspected. - -Occasionally, a bundle of old newspapers from the castle found their -way to the hut, and were eagerly scanned by the keeper as he smoked his -pipe; and his remarks to his little daughter showed her that he knew -more about the world beyond the mountains than she ever guessed. - -And now he seemed to notice favorably Morag's efforts after domestic -reform, which he had sneered at, or completely ignored before. He -commended her on her attempts to improve the interior of the hut, and -occasionally teased her laughingly about her imitation of Kirsty's -domestic arrangements, which was everywhere visible. - -It seemed suddenly to occur to him that since the laird would not have -the hut mended, he possibly might make some effort towards its -restoration himself, and he began to make plans for the repairing of the -porous roof, after the shooting party should have taken their departure. - -Morag could date this happy change in her life from that eventful -evening in the fir-wood, and she often thought that, whatever the old -quarrel had been, the healing of it had proved a very blessed thing for -all of them. - -Sometimes Morag overheard Kirsty talking to her father in low, earnest -tones, as he stood beside her, listening quietly, and more than once she -caught the name of Kirsty's Lord and Master mingling with their talk; -and then the little girl's heart was filled with gladness. She never yet -had the courage to tell her father about that new Life which she had -been finding during these autumn days; but she often longed to do so, -and was only prevented by her extreme shyness and reserve. She felt very -anxious that her father should come to know and love that unseen, but -real Friend, who had been the light of Kirsty's lonely home for so many -years, and whom she was now learning to know and love. - -Occasionally, when her father and Kirsty were engaged in these -conversations, Morag would start with Kenneth on an expedition to some -of their moorland haunts, to introduce them to the stranger lad. They -often wandered into the little graveyard on the hillside, and stood -silently beside the fresh-laid turf, while Morag tried to recall the -face of the quiet sleeper below; and Kenneth's thoughts went slipping -back to the time when he played at his mother's knee, a merry little -boy. - -It was rather a grief of mind to Kirsty that she never could induce her -grandson to talk of the past, nor to give any chronicle of his former -life, which she fain would have heard; but she was both wise and kind, -and did not seek to elicit confidences which were not freely bestowed, -hoping that the time would come when they might be voluntarily given. - -But, sometimes, on the way home from these visits to the little -graveyard, Kenneth would talk to the quiet Morag as he never had done to -Kirsty. And as he told of his past chequered life, the eyes of the -little maiden were filled with wonder and pity at the strange -experiences through which her boy-friend had passed in the world beyond -the mountains. - -Kenneth was daily gaining in vigor and manliness. The bracing mountain -air seemed to put new life and strength into him; and in Kirsty's -comfortable dwelling he had parted with those wearing anxieties which -had so long darkened his young life,--though with a darkening that had -not been evil. - -Kirsty was very anxious that her grandson should at once choose a trade -and begin to work. She dreaded idleness for him, above all things, and -was somewhat dismayed to find his love for mountain roamings, and to -notice his intense enjoyment in a day with the keeper at the moors. The -boy little knew what pain it gave to his grandmother when one day that -they were talking about his future work in life he frankly acknowledged -that he should like nothing half so well as to be a gamekeeper like -Dingwall. - -But seventeen years of growing trust in the wise love and gracious -leading of her Heavenly Father enabled her to commit the boy to His -care, and to bid him go and prosper in the path of life which he had -chosen. - - - - -X. - -_THE KIRK IN THE VILLAGE._ - - -"HAVE you heard your pupil's latest request, Miss Prosser?" asked Mr. -Clifford, laughingly, as he turned from Blanche, who had been pleading -her suit in low, coaxing tones. "She actually wants to go to the kirk in -the village for some high festival occasion next Sunday--and in company -with that wonderful Kirsty, too, whom we hear so much about just now. -She refuses with disdain my kind offer of the carriage for herself and -party--wants to go in a wheel-barrow, or something of that -description--is it not, Blanche?" - -"Oh no, papa! how can you think such absurd things? We are going in -Neil's cart, of course. It will be such fun! Kirsty says there will be -lots of straw for seats, and Kenneth is to drive. You know you have more -than half promised to let me go, papa," added Blanche, beseechingly -clinging to her father in the hope of an immediate decision in her -favor, for her governess had raised her voice in strong disapproval of -such an irregular proceeding. - -Mr. Clifford had noticed with pleasure how much his little daughter -seemed to be enjoying these autumn days in the Highlands, which he -feared might prove duller than she expected. It was evident, too, that -her enjoyment of them consisted chiefly in the companionship she had -made with those peasant friends in the Glen. - -Blanche's glowing description of Kirsty, and her repetition of several -of the old woman's shrewd sayings, gave Mr. Clifford a favorable -impression of Kirsty. And for the little Morag he had always entertained -a special liking since the stormy day on which he had found her, all -alone, at work on the soaking earthen floor of the hut, and he -congratulated himself on having secured her as an appendage to the -little Shetlander. He frequently assured the doubting Miss Prosser that -the child would get no harm from her intercourse with these dwellers in -the Glen; and, in the present instance, he did not object that she -should see a new phase of life, in company with her Highland friends. - -Before Blanche went to bed, she had gained her father's consent to the -Sunday project. She lay awake for a long time, thinking how very -delightful it would be to go to church with Kirsty and Morag--and in a -cart, too; and to be obliged to stay so long away that she should not be -at home either for early dinner or afternoon lessons with her governess, -so that the latter would have to be dispensed with altogether. Blanche -thought it would be the most delightfully out-of-the-way Sunday which -she had ever known; and she fell asleep at last, to dream that she and -Morag, with Kirsty and Kenneth, had come rumbling in Neil's cart into -Westminster Abbey while service was going on. - -Morag, too, on that same evening, after a more brief and tremulous suit -than her wee leddy's, had gained her father's permission to go to the -kirk, for the first time in her life. - -To the little English girl the prospect was merely a pleasant ploy; but -to Morag Dingwall it was the fulfilling of a dream of years. How often -she had watched, and how much she had longed to join, the little -straggling companies wending their way along the white hilly roads from -all parts of the Glen to meet in that little kirk in the village, which -she had never seen but closed and silent. Kirsty often told her that the -Lord Jesus Christ loved to have His people gather to worship Him. Only a -few days ago she had been reading to the little girl the story of how -He had once come, after He rose from the dead, into the midst of a -little company which had met to worship, and of how He had stretched -forth His hands, saying, "Peace be unto you." - -Morag had remarked, in a mournful tone, "He never does the like noo, -Kirsty; would ye no like to see Him, jist ance?" - -"An' have I no seen Him?" answered Kirsty, triumphantly. "'Deed, bairn, -I've whiles felt as near 'til Him as gin His fingers were wavin' aboun' -my heid, wi' the verra words i' His mou', an' 'Peace be wi' ye.' I aye -gaed oot o' His hoose wi' a blither hert an' o lichter fit than I gaed -tilt." - -The old woman had never been strong enough to go to the kirk since -Morag's acquaintance with her, and she mourned over it as a great -privation. Neil's cart was a rare luxury, only procurable indeed on -Communion Sabbaths, which were held once a year in the Glen, when the -scattered inhabitants came from its remotest parts,--many of them across -miles of pathless hills, to share in the services of the day. - -Never did Jewish peasant go up to the Holy City on the great day of the -Feast with more joy and hope than did Kirsty Macpherson to the yearly -communion at the village kirk. And, to the present occasion, she looked -forward with special gladness; for had she not to give thanks for a dear -one whom she knew, at last, to be safe in the home of God--the homeless -wanderer, whose name had often been borne by her in agony from that -communion-table to the ear of Him who came to seek and save the lost? - -Morag was waiting in the castle court-yard on Sunday morning, long -before the little _chatelaine_ had completed her toilette to her maid's -satisfaction. At last the door was swung open, and the wee leddy came -running out to meet her friend, looking fresh and dainty in her spotless -white dress and pretty blue hat, with which Ellis had adorned her--not -without many regrets that such elegant garments should descend to such -degraded uses as a seat in a cart; but, since she was going to church, -her maid concluded that, of a necessity, she must wear her best attire. - -"How bonnie ye look!" exclaimed Morag, gazing at her wee leddy with -unfeigned admiration. "Ye're jist like the sky itsel', a' blue-and-white -like." - -"So I am! how funny! But oh, Morag, is not this a glorious morning? -Won't Kirsty be pleased? I really think it's the finest day we've had -since I came to Glen Eagle. I'm so happy," and Blanche danced gleefully -on the soft turf. "Now, Chance, you needn't be wagging your tail. You -are not to be invited to come with us to-day, my dear dog. It's Sunday, -you know, and we are going to church with Kirsty and Kenneth; and dogs -never do go to church you know, Chance." - -"Ay do they, whiles!" interrupted Morag, patting the pleading Chance -sympathizingly; "they gang to the kirk onyway. For I've often thought I -wad jist like to be auld Neil's collie, when I've seen him passin' wi' -Neil on a Sabbath mornin', and I was feelin' terrible lonesome at hame. -Kirsty says, 'The dogs are mony a time quaieter than the bairns at the -kirk, and that attentive-like.'" But Morag agreed that since Chance was -not a dog of church-going habits, it would be wiser to leave him at -home. - -Neil's cart already stood on the road at the cottage gate when the -little girls reached it. Kenneth was waiting at the horse's head, and -Kirsty came forth in all the glory of a spotless white _mutch_ (a high -cap of muslin, worn by the old peasant women of Scotland). She wore also -a pretty scarlet cloak, which had been her best attire for the last -fifty years. In her hand she held her big, worn Bible, carefully wrapped -in her ample white pocket-handkerchief, and from it there projected some -stalks of thyme, and mint, and southernwood, as a preventive against -possible drowsiness, during the long services of the day. - -"Welcome til ye, my bairns," said she, greeting the little girls kindly, -as she closed the little gate behind her. "Havna we gotten a bonnie -Sawbbath-day? It's jist an oncommon fine mornin' for this time o' the -year. May the Sun o' Richtyousness arise wi' healin' intil His wings the -day, lichtin' up a' the dark herts,--jist as the bonnie sun this mornin' -garred the drumlie licht weir aff the glen," added Kirsty, with a glad -light in her calm gray eyes. - -Blanche had already mounted into the cart, and was jumping about among -the straw, greatly to the destruction of Ellis's careful morning -toilette. - -"O Kenneth! isn't this so very jolly? It will be such fun going to -church like this. I'm sure I shall never forget it all my life. I do -wish papa could see us start. Do you know I almost think he wanted to? -Doesn't Kirsty look beautiful? I wish she'd always wear that red cloak; -don't you, Kenneth?" - -The old woman came leaning on Morag's shoulder, and stepped into the -cart, followed by the little girl. Kenneth cracked the whip with an air -of business, and the little company started. - -It was certainly a perfect autumn day, and Glen Eagle was looking its -loveliest. Kirsty's face wore a look of holy peace, as she sat silently -with folded hands, and gazed upon the calm, still scene around. "I hae -jist been minin' o' that glaidsome word o' David's," she said presently, -turning to Morag, who was seated by her side. "'The Lord is good til a', -an' His tender mercies are ower a' His warks.' I'm thinkin' it maun jist -hae been on some bonnie quaiet day like this, when he was awa' frae the -din an' the steer of Jerooslem, 'at he thocht on makin' that bonnie -psalm." - -Morag had never heard the psalm, but she resolved she would try to find -it that evening, and perhaps her father might help her. She said the -verse over to herself, and thought Kirsty must be right in imagining -that the poet-king would think his beautiful thoughts on such a day as -this. - -But Kenneth, who had been listening quietly, as he walked by the side of -the cart, presently looked up, and said, "I'm not so sure of that, -granny. Don't you think King David would just be as likely to say that -after a long day's fighting at the head of his soldiers, or after a busy -day in his palace, as among sunny green fields when he had nothing to do -but enjoy himself? Do you no think, granny, that folk maybe need to -believe in the tender mercies of the Lord most in the din and the fret -of big towns, when, besides perhaps being lonely, and in want one's -self, you see so many people still more sad and worse off? D'ye no -think, granny, that it would be more comfort to think of the tender -mercies of the Lord, living in such dreary streets, than in such a -bonnie glen as this?" said Kenneth, smiling sadly as he remembered how -much he and his mother had needed, and how often they had found, these -tender mercies in such places. - -"'Deed, laddie, I'm thinkin' ye hae the richt o't efter a'; I'm glaid ye -thocht o' that," said Kirsty, looking down at her grandson with her most -pleased smile. - -As Morag sat silently listening to the conversation, she thought how -good it was that these "tender mercies" seemed to be over all,--among -the busy, crowded haunts of men, as well as with the lonely dwellers -among the mountains. And as the cart rumbled slowly along the winding -road, the little girl repeated the verse to herself till she knew it -well. - -Many a time in after days that verse came back to her memory, sometimes -as a prayer, but more often as a thanksgiving. Across the waste of -years, with graves between and many a sorrow, she would look back and -remember this still Sabbath morning when she went for the first time to -the little village kirk, and the vanished faces that were round her -then; and she would sum up the tender mercies of the Lord. - -The sound of the old church bell now began to be heard across the still -moorland. The little straggling companies quickened their pace at its -sound, and the nearer roads began to stir with assembling worshippers. - -Blanche looked with eager interest at the gathering groups, occasionally -asking whispered information from Morag concerning them. Among them were -old bent men and young children, who had come many a mile through the -pathless hills that morning. There were shepherds in their plaids and -broad bonnets, with their collie dogs following, just as Morag had said, -Blanche noticed; and she resolved to keep an eye on their behavior in -church, and perhaps give Chance a similar privilege another time if her -impression of the conduct of the collies was favorable. - -The kirk stood in the centre of the village green, and when Kirsty and -her young party came in sight, there were already many groups gathered -round it. The old minister was threading his way among them, and there -was many a broad bonnet raised and many a curtsy dropped, as with -kindly, gracious, though silent greeting he passed into the church. - -The old bell was still pealing, sweet and musical, just as it used to do -centuries ago in the convent chapel down in the hollow, from whence it -had been taken when the ancient chapel became a roofless ruin; and now -it called the dwellers in the Glen to the kirk with the same soothing -chime as it used to summon the nuns to matins and vespers, and remind -the scattered peasants that the hour of prayer had come. - -Suddenly it ceased to chime, and the thronging groups on the greensward -moved quietly in at the open doors of the kirk. - -Many eyes were turned on Kirsty and her young friends as they passed -slowly up the aisle. Some recognized the bonnie wee leddy of the castle; -and not a few knew the nut-brown Morag by sight, and smiled kindly on -her. The story of the poor woman, who had come to the Glen to die on -such a lowly bed, was known to many, and they looked with interest on -Kirsty's grandson. - -The kirk was almost filled when they entered. Two long, narrow tables, -covered with white, stretched from the pulpit the whole length of the -church, at which the communicants were to sit. Before taking her place -there, Kirsty led the children to seats at the side of the church; and -then she moved away slowly to take her solitary post at the long white -table. - -Morag did not venture to raise her eyes for some time. The scene was so -new and strange to her that for a moment she felt something of the -terror-stricken feeling which possessed her on the evening when she was -brought before the party at the castle. But when, at last, she ventured -to look up, she caught a glimpse of Kirsty's calm, worshipping face, and -she began to feel more reassured. Meanwhile, Blanche kept gazing about -in a vivacious manner, taking notes of everything. On the whole, she -felt much disappointment with the interior of the little kirk. It looked -so bare and stern, she thought, as she searched in vain for the altar, -or the organ, which she expected to peal forth every minute. - -At last the silence was broken, not by the organ, but by the grave, -deep voice of the minister, who reared his gray head from the pulpit, -and began to read a grand old psalm, which the congregation joined in -singing. Then followed a prayer, and all the people rose, the men -covering their faces with their broad bonnets. - -Morag stood listening with closed eyes and moveless posture. Blanche -tried very hard to do so also, but she could not help opening her eyes -occasionally to see what the dogs were about, and presently she began to -wish that the prayer was done and they would begin to sing again. She -occasionally made exploring tours with her eyes over the church, and at -last she caught sight of Kirsty's red cloak and familiar face, and by -her side she saw a figure which she thought she recognized. To -facilitate observations, she raised herself on tiptoe; and at last she -was satisfied that the stalwart form at the long white table, beside -Kirsty, was none other than the keeper Dingwall. She could hardly -restrain an exclamation of surprise at this discovery. The keeper, she -knew, was not in the habit of going to church; and, certainly, Morag -would have told her if she had expected him there to-day. Very -impatiently did she listen to the concluding petitions, for she could -not get Morag to open her eyes till the prayer was done. At last, while -the congregation were engaged in turning the leaves of their Bibles, in -search of the chapter about to be read, Blanche contrived by a variety -of signs to make Morag's eyes alight on the spot where her father stood. -If Blanche's astonishment had been great, Morag's was still greater, -when she caught sight of her father's tall form rearing itself beside -Kirsty's bent head. This, then, was the reason why he had smiled so -strangely that morning when she laid her hand on his arm, and said, with -a great effort to break through her reserve, "O father! I would like -richt weel gin ye were comin' til the kirk wi' us. I ken fine the Lord -Jesus Christ would be glaid to see ye. Kirsty says He's aye weel pleased -to see folk intil His ain hoose." - -And now he was seated beside Kirsty at the communion-table, where, as -the old woman had told Morag, none but those who loved the Lord might -come. The little girl felt a thrill of delight, greater than she ever -did in her life. She felt sure that her father must have begun to know -and love the Lord Jesus Christ, or he never would have come there. So -happy and thankful was she, that she could not wait till the minister -prayed again, but said, low in her heart, words of deep thanksgiving. - -There were many besides Blanche who noticed with astonishment the tall -form of the keeper in his unwonted place at the communion-table; and -many along with Morag gave thanks to Him who "turneth men's hearts as -rivers of water whither He will," and who had brought this proud, -rebellious spirit to the foot of His cross. - -Dingwall had been welcomed to the place he occupied to-day by the old -minister some evenings before in the manse. He disclosed the picture of -his past life, with its darkest shadows unrelieved; and had told of his -late repentance. The pastor recognized it as genuine, and there was a -light in his eye to-day as he read his Master's message, "This is a -faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came -into the world to save sinners." - -After the usual service was over, Blanche's interest, which had been -flagging, began to revive, and she felt glad that her maid was not in -attendance to take her home, as she felt curious to know what was coming -next. - -Presently a hymn was sung to a sad wailing tune, which suited the words. -It told of that night on which the Son of Man endured the "eager rage -of every foe;" and Blanche felt a knot rise in her throat as she -listened to it and tried to join. Never before, she thought, had she -felt so sorry for the Lord Jesus Christ, who was "crucified, dead, and -buried," though she had heard all about it so many times. And then she -suddenly remembered Morag's anxiety to know all about the "good Lord who -died on the green hill," and how many questions she used to ask about -Him during the first days of their acquaintance; but she never mentioned -the subject now, so Blanche concluded that she could not care so much as -she did before. - -The words of the hymn had brought tears to Morag's eyes, too. But then -she quickly remembered the joyful side of the sorrowful story, and -thought of Him "who liveth, and was dead, and is alive for evermore." - -While the hymn was being sung, four old men, the _elders_ of the kirk, -walked slowly in, carrying the plates of bread and cups of wine, which -they placed reverently on a white-covered table, where the minister now -sat, and which Blanche supposed must be the altar she had been in search -of. - -The children watched with mingled curiosity and awe while the symbols -were passed to all who sat at the long white tables, after the minister -had given thanks and read to the congregation the Master's words which -He spoke in the upper room at Jerusalem when He commanded that this -Feast should be kept by His disciples till He should come again. - -Perfect stillness reigned throughout the church; almost every head was -bowed, and many a heart went up in silent adoring gratitude to Him who -had loved them and given Himself for them. - -When the elders had again reverently placed the symbols on the table in -front of the pulpit, the stillness was broken by the deep, grave voice -of the pastor, speaking words of exhortation to his flock, that they -should be "blameless and harmless, the sons of God." A sweet psalm of -thanksgiving was sung, and then, with uplifted hands, the minister -prayed that the peace of God might rest on the little company; and, at -last, the peasants moved away from the long white tables to scatter to -their distant homes in the Glen; some of them never to meet again till -they gather to the Feast above. - -The children sat and watched them as they passed slowly out of the kirk, -and then they, too, rose to go. Morag sought her father immediately. -She gazed eagerly into his face, as if she expected him to say -something; but he only pressed her hand, and turning to Kirsty, he said -'Good-bye,' and then walked away. - -"Lat him gang hame his lane, bairn," whispered Kirsty, as she noticed -Morag's disappointed look, and her movement to follow, when her father -started to go home alone. "I'm thinkin' he'll hae better company wi' him -than ony o' us wad mak' Morag, lass." - -And then surveying her little flock, Kirsty said, smiling kindly, "Noo, -bairns, I'se warrant ye're hun'ry eneuch. Jist ye come doun til a quaiet -burnside 'at I ken fine, and we'll hae a bit o' a rest--and ye'll eat a -piece I hae brocht for ye a'." - -So the old woman led the way to a quiet nook behind the village, where -the yellowing birk-trees drooped round a pleasant bit of greensward, -hiding it from the dusty highway, while the splashings of a little burn, -rolling merrily among the white stones, kept the turf smooth and green -all the year through. - -Here Kirsty seated herself, with her merry little party round her. From -underneath her red cloak she then produced a basket containing some -delicious cream-cakes, which she had baked on the previous evening for -this occasion, and of which she now invited the children to partake. - -Never did lunch taste so nice; and never was there such a pleasant -Sunday, Blanche thought, as she sat at Kirsty's feet, eating her piece -of oat-cake, and talking to her old friend. - -Morag was perched on a stone, with her sunburnt feet paddling in the -brown water, and Kenneth stood watching the fate of twigs, meant to -personate his friends, which he occasionally tossed into the water, -where presently they got among the tiny rapids of the burn, some of them -being finally entangled there, while others were able to extricate -themselves from their difficulties, and were borne onwards to the river. - -Blanche prattled away merrily, as usual, upon a variety of topics; -sometimes asking questions about the services of the day, and comparing -notes with the arrangements of the church where she went in London. -Morag listened with wondering eyes as the wee leddy glowingly described -the beautiful, many-colored picture-windows, the pretty gilded altar, -and the great organ, with its surpliced choir. The little mountain -maiden had looked upon the interior of the village kirk as very -beautiful; but this church, described by Blanche, must be much more so: -and Morag began to think that perhaps the Lord Jesus Christ liked best -to be worshipped in a fine church like that, since He was so high and -holy. But, with the thought, there came a pang of disappointment, and, -whenever she had an opportunity, she confided her trouble to Kirsty. - -After pondering a little, the old woman slowly replied, "Weel, bairn, -I'll no say but that the Maister likes a' thing that's bonnie and fair -to see. A fine bigget hoose o' worship, wi' the best wark that the -fingers o' man can mak', canna be onacceptable til Him. But I'm -thinkin', efter a', the thing that'll please Him maist is to see ilka -hert worshippin' Him in speerit and in trowth,--nae maitter whither it -be intil a gran' bigget kirk, or amang the bracken upo' the hillside, as -oor folk ance did, lang syne, Morag, lass." - -"Oh yes, Kirsty, I know. You mean in the time of the Covenanters, don't -you?" said Blanche as she broke off a branch from the bog-myrtle, and -threw it into the burn, in imitation of Kenneth's amusement. "I know all -about the Covenanters. By the by, I've got a book in London with some -rather nice stories about them. I wish I had it here, Morag; I think you -would like it. The soldiers certainly were very cruel and rough to the -people they found making a church among the heather. I'm sure I could -never see why," continued the little English maiden, as she went to -extricate her twig from among the rapids with her umbrella; because that -twig was Morag she said, and she must give her a little poke on. - -"Ay, ay!" said the old woman meditatively. "They were the dark days o' -oor kirk, but wha kens 'at they warna the brichtest days, efter a', i' -the eyes o' Him 'at walks amang the seven golden cawnal-sticks we read -o' i' the Revelations. He aye telt His kirk nae to be feared at onything -it had to suffer." - -"Weel, Morag, lass! so ye're thinkin' yet ye wad like to worship i' the -gran' hoose in Lon'on, 'at the wee leddy tells o', better nor in oor wee -kirkie?" said Kirsty, turning smilingly to the crestfallen little Morag, -as she divined her thoughts. "D'ye min' far the Laist Supper was -keepit--i' the upper room in Jerooslem? Weel, I'm no thinkin' there -could hae been onything very braw intilt; and yet the Maister thocht it -guid eneuch for sic a Feast as the warl' niver saw." - -Blanche did not remember about it, so Kirsty handed her the old Bible, -and she read St. Luke's account of the Last Supper, finishing with the -words--"And when they had sung a hymn, they went to the Mount of -Olives." - -"Why, Kirsty, how funny! That's just something like what we've done -to-day. And I'm sure the Mount of Olives couldn't be half so nice as -this burn-side; could it, Morag? I shall be sure to remember this Sunday -when I go to Holy Communion, Kirsty. But that will be ever so long yet. -I've got to be confirmed first, you know. Miss Prosser says it's proper -to go to Holy Communion when one is about seventeen; but, oh dear! it's -a long time till then. I do wish I were grown up," said Blanche, with a -sigh over the slow progress of Time. - -"Eh, but my dear lambie, ye maun let Him intil yer hert lang afore that -time comes roun'. Will ye no listen til the Guid Shepherd's voice -callin' ye the day? There's a hantle o' rough slippy bits o' life afore -ye, my bonnie bairn, I'm thinkin'. Will ye no lat Him tak' ye intil His -arms, and carry ye safe through them a'?" said Kirsty, as she looked -fondly at the little girl. - -Blanche did not reply, but sat nervously plucking blades of grass. -Presently she jumped up, and ran to join Kenneth, who had gone to catch -the old cart-horse grazing by the waterside, to yoke him in the cart -again, and prepare for the homeward journey. - -Then Morag gave Kirsty a shoulder to help her from her low seat on the -greensward; and as she stooped to pick up the basket, she said in a low, -eager tone, "Kirsty, werna ye richt glad to see father i' the kirk the -day? I never thocht he was comin' tilt." - -"Ay was I,--glaider than ye can ken' o', bairn," replied Kirsty, her -gray eyes beaming with joy. "'Deed I'm thinkin' there maun hae been joy -amang the angels themsels, the day when they saw yer father sitting at -the table o' the Lord--a bran' plucked frae the burnin'. Eh, bairn, ye -that's ain o' His ain lambs yersel', arna ye glaid to think that yer -puir father's nae latten bide oot i' the cauld." - -Morag's face flushed with joy to hear Kirsty call her a Christian, and -she was going to make some reply when they heard Blanche's clear, -silvery tones calling them to come--that the cart was all ready to -start. - -"There's that bonnie wee leddy, wi' her sweet tongue," said Kirsty, as -she moved to go. "Dear lamb! may the Guid Shepherd mak' goodness and -mercy to follow her a' the days o' her life. She's a winsome bit thing -as I ever set eyes on. I wad like richt weel to ken that she gied her -young hert to the Lord, Morag. There's a heap o' snares and dangers o' -the great warl' for the like o' her. They tell me she's fat they ca' an -heiress, and has heaps o' hooses and lan' in Englan' belongin' til -hersel'. It wad be a richt sair maitter gin she were like the young -man--him ye ken that we read o' i' the Scripter, wha turned awa frae the -Lord sorrowfu'-like, because his hert was set upon his gran' -possessions. She has sic a hantle o' bonnie ways aboot her, and as sweet -a like natur' as ever God made. Ye maun be earnest wi' the Lord for yer -wee leddy, Morag, my lass." - -This was a subject about which Morag longed greatly to talk to Kirsty, -though she had never yet been able to break through her shyness and -reserve. She looked up eagerly in the old woman's face, and was about to -reply, when Blanche pushed aside the fringing birk-trees in search of -them, and they left the quiet green nook, and turned into the dusty -highway. - -Many a time in after years, when these autumn days lay far away in the -dim haze of distance, Morag Dingwall would leave the beaten path, if -she chanced to pass that way, and wander in among the whispering -birk-trees and the scented bog-myrtle, to stand and gaze at this little -spot of mossy-turf. Time having brought many changes for her, she would -stand pensively and gaze at this still unchanged spot, where the little -singing burn flowed on in its sparkling glee, heedless of the vanished -voices which had once mingled in its sport. And as she stood there her -thoughts would go slipping back-- - - "By the green bye-ways forgotten, to a stiller circle of time, - Where violets faded for ever, seemed blooming as once in their - prime," - -till her bonnie wee leddy's voice seemed again to ring out clear and -silvery, and she could hear Kirsty's low, earnest tones, as she spoke of -the Master she loved so well. - - - - -XI. - -_THE LOCH._ - - -A COLD north wind that smelled of winter had been sweeping through the -glen for several days, making the great fir-forests creak and swing, and -the ash and birk-trees down in the hollow shiver and drop their leaves -at each gust. The nights had begun to draw in visibly, and the mornings -felt chilly, and looked sad and grey. Everything seemed to proclaim that -the pleasant autumn days at Glen Eagle were nearly done. The purple -bloom had quite faded from the heather, and the hills began to look -stern and bleak in the cheerless afternoon. - - "Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun, - The line of yellow light dies fast away - That crown'd the eastern copse; and chill and dun - Falls on the moor the brief October day." - -To two young hearts that wintry wind and its accompaniments sounded -dirge-like and sad, for it told of happy days that had passed all too -soon. Blanche sighed as she remembered the dull London school-room, and -the measured promenade in Kensington Park; and Morag's lip grew -tremulous as she trotted by Shag's side along the familiar roads, and -sighed to think how desolate they would seem without his little -mistress. - -The shooting party at the old castle had already begun to break up; and -the day for general dispersion to warmer latitudes was fixed, when, one -afternoon, Blanche and Morag stood together in the old court-yard, -trying to decide what would be the very pleasantest way of spending it. -They had promised to spend the last afternoon with Kirsty; and now the -last but one had come, and the hours seemed so very precious that they -feared to "squander one wavelet" of them. - -Shag had returned to his winter quarters that morning, not without a -tearful parting on the little girl's side. The little Shetlander -manifested no emotion on the occasion; indeed Blanche fancied that she -could detect a merry twinkle of satisfaction in his bright eye when he -recognized his master, and heard his native Gaelic, and he certainly -moved off with him in his readiest trot. Chance, too, had been sent -southward along with the first detachment of servants, so the little -girls were able to make their plans irrespective of their quadruped -friends. - -It seemed this afternoon as if the setting in of bad weather was likely -to prove a false alarm after all. The bleak wind that had been sweeping -through the strath ceased to blow to-day, and the bright sunshine was -once again lighting up the desolate ravines, and sending its glory upon -the autumnal tints down among the hollows. Never had the Glen looked -more lovely, Blanche thought, as her eye wandered over the now familiar -landscape. The loch lay shining in the sunlight, like a looking-glass -framed in the heather; and as she looked across to it, Blanche suddenly -remembered that she had promised to go there before she left to find a -water lily, as a model for one of a group of wax flowers which Miss -Prosser had been making during these holiday afternoons, while her pupil -was rambling among the hills. - -It was a satisfaction to be able to find an object for the walk, and the -girls set out briskly along the winding path which led from the castle -grounds to the moorland road. The drooping birk boughs were quite golden -now, and the rowan berries a coral red. Blanche kept plucking them as -she went cheerily along, warbling in the sunshine. Feeling very happy -for the present, she did not allow the shadow of the coming separation -to throw its gloom over her, as it seemed to do with the grave little -Morag, who walked silently by her side. Everything looked bright and -smiling, and her wee leddy appeared in one of her most joyous moods; and -Morag wondered why she should feel so sad, that the surrounding -brightness seemed to jar upon her, rather than chase away her sorrowful -mood. And as she listened to the little birds, who took up the refrain -of Blanche's warblings, and merrily chirruped odes of welcome to the -returned sun, Morag was reminded of a sentiment expressed in one of -Kirsty's songs. She had never understood the reason of its saying-- - - "Why will ye chant, ye little birds, - And I sae weary, fu' o' care?" - -and had once remarked to her old friend that "even though a body was -feelin' some sad like, it wad surely do their hearts guid to hear the -birdies sing sic bonnie." - -But Kirsty had smiled and said, "'Deed, bairn, but ye're wrang there, -I'm thinkin'. No a' the birdies' bonnic sangs, nor a' the sweet warks o' -God, can pit glaidness intil broken, sorrowfu' herts. Naething can do -that, I'm thinkin', excep' a sicht o' His ain face, and a soun' o' His -ain voice. I've whiles thocht 'at the poet-chiel' wha made the bit sang -maun hae kent fine what it was to hae a richt sorrowfu' sair hert mony a -day;" and Morag thought that she was able, from to-day's experience, to -catch a glimpse of the poet's meaning. - -Presently Blanche caught the infectious sadness of her friend, and -became quiet and meditative also. Flinging away her bunches of rowan -berries, she came and put her arms round Morag's sunburnt neck, saying, -gently, "You won't quite forget me, Morag, dear, when I'm far away, will -you?" - -A great glow of love rose in Morag's heart as she felt the soft curls -about her neck and Blanche's lips on her cheek. She felt as if she could -have died for her bonnie wee leddy then and there, but she only answered -quietly, "I'm no thinkin' we'll forget ye that ready. Kirsty and me will -be min'in' on ye ilka day. But I'm some feared whiles that ye'll no be -min'in' o' the Glen when ye gang back to the gran' muckle toun ye bide -in." - -There was something else which Morag longed to say to Blanche that -afternoon, and many times before, but she had never been able to summon -up courage to speak about it. She wished to tell her of the new feeling -that had been taking possession of her heart, and which she longed to -share with Blanche. - -Since those first days of wonder and perplexity--which hearing the hymn -in the fir-wood caused--Morag had never talked to the little English -girl of those things which had been slowly sinking into her heart. -Kirsty had been her Evangelist, Morag sometimes thought, as she read the -"Pilgrim's Progress." It was she who had pointed out the way to the -Wicket Gate when the little girl was groping blindly; and to her alone -could she speak freely as yet. But now that she had come to understand -what a real, living, listening Friend the Lord Jesus Christ is, though -unseen by earthly eyes, she longed intensely to share this new faith and -hope with her wee leddy, whom she loved so well. And since Kirsty had -hinted at the many dangers which the world beyond the mountains might -have in store for her now guileless friend, she longed the more to ask -her to take this unseen Friend for her Saviour and Guide. But somehow -the opportunity passed, and they had reached the loch before Morag could -find words to say what she wanted. - -Blanche did not like the sombre mood which appeared to have fallen on -them both; and seemed bent on talking herself and her friend into a -gayer mood by castle-building. She began to prattle about all that she -meant to do next summer, of the many ambitious feats in the way of -climbing which she meant to perform, and of the familiar places--written -over with memories of those pleasant autumn days which they would have -to revisit. - -The yellow afternoon sun was shining on the rippling water of the loch, -and the blue sky, with numberless white fleecy clouds, lay like heaps of -snow reflected on its clear depths. On the soft mossy banks, sloping -down to the loch, there grew masses of scented bog myrtle, and alder -bushes, while yellow flags and rushes fringed the edge of the water. The -broad dark leaves of the water-lilies rocked about in tangled masses on -the loch; but Blanche looked in vain for a lily to take to Miss Prosser. -At last she gave up the search, and throwing herself lazily on the sunny -bank, she lay watching the circles made by the trouts in pursuit of -flies hovering upon the surface of the water. - -Morag meanwhile spied a wild rose-bush at some distance off, on the -bank, and she clambered up to gather the brilliant scarlet berries; and -Blanche presently started off again on a fresh search after the -water-lily; for she was unwilling to return from her last expedition -without the flower which she had promised to find. At last she was -rewarded by discovering a beautiful lily lying hidden away among the -dark leaves. It seemed to be at a convenient stretching distance, so she -knelt down on the moss, and put out her hand to grasp it, which she did -with difficulty, for it was further off than she had thought. She was -about to spring back in triumph at having captured the prize, when she -felt the ground suddenly give way, and in spite of her efforts to save -herself, she went slipping into the water--down, down among the roots of -the floating lilies. - -In her terror she gave a plunge to try to grasp some reeds growing near -and to regain her footing, but she only landed herself further from the -bank than before. All happened in the twinkling of an eye--so quickly -that Blanche raised no cry. But now that all footing was gone, and she -felt herself being fast submerged in the deep water, she shrieked with -terror, and threw up her arms in wild dismay. - -Morag was at the water's brink in a moment; but she only came in time to -see the ripples closing over Blanche's golden crown. She stretched out -her hands towards her, but saw in a moment that she had been carried -too far out for any such help. Morag looked round in silent despair, -for she could not swim, and she had presence of mind to realise that it -would be impossible otherwise to save her; but she could not let her -bonnie wee leddy die all alone there, and, in an instant two little -girls, instead of one, were struggling for life among the rocking -lily-leaves. Morag's wild plunge brought her alongside Blanche, who, -with her remaining consciousness roused, clutched her arm, but very soon -both the girls were sinking, sinking, and the cruel water closing over -them! - -Once again Blanche's hands were thrown up, and her closing eyes looked -on the calm afternoon scene--the sun-lighted grass, with the scarlet -berries scattered over it, dropped by Morag in her wild plunge towards -the bank--once again, and then-- - -But what is that rustling among the alder bushes, and these sounds of -heavy breathing after a hard race? - -Kenneth Macpherson stands on the grassy bank just as the long, floating -curls went under the rippling water, and Blanche Clifford's last -struggle for life seemed over. She had loosened her hold on Morag's arm, -who now began to make convulsive efforts to find her again, as she was -drifted away. In a moment, Kenneth's arm was round Blanche, and with a -few vigorous strokes he laid her on the bank--or all that remained of -her, for his hasty glance gave him little hope that life was there. - -Morag's consciousness partially returned as soon as he grasped her, and -very soon she, too, was laid on the grass by the panting Kenneth. But -the most difficult part of his work was yet to come, he thought, as he -glanced at the motionless figures on the turf. Kneeling down, he began -to chafe Blanche's cold hands, and vainly tried to detect some sign of -life. Presently Morag got up from the turf, and stood shivering, gazing -blankly round, as if she were at a loss to know what had happened. The -sight of the water recalled everything with terrible vividness; she -looked wildly round in search of Blanche, and saw her lying pale and -motionless on the bank, her fair curls all drenched and tangled. With a -cry of agony, Morag sprang to her side. - -"I don't think she's dead, Morag!" whispered Kenneth, who still knelt -beside her. "Do you think you are able to stay here while I go to the -castle to get help? But I'm afraid you must be very wet and tired, -yourself, poor Morag!" - -"Oh, rin! rin to the castle! I'll easy bide wi' her! My bonnie wee -leddy, speak but ae word til me!" And Morag bent eagerly over her; but -the lips were silent and bloodless, and the eyes gave no sign of life. -It was terrible to be so helpless to do anything, Morag thought, as she -kept chafing the cold fingers, while, in a low monotone of agony, she -prayed that her wee leddy might come back to life again. - -Meanwhile, Kenneth flew like lightning to the castle. On the way, he met -the wearied remnant of the shooting party sauntering homewards, after -their last day at the moors, all unconscious of what had been going on -at the loch. Their pace was quickly changed as they hurried towards the -water, while servants followed with a supply of blankets and all other -necessaries. Mr. Clifford hardly listened to Kenneth's incoherent words, -when, flinging down his gun, he hurried towards the bank where his child -lay still unconscious. - -"Blanche, darling, speak to me!" he cried, lifting her in his arms. But -the head fell back, and the motionless frame gave no sign of life. The -dearly won trophy, the water-lily, dropped at last from the unclasping -fingers, and the white arm hung listlessly down. - -All restoratives were eagerly tried, and at length the anxious group on -the greensward fancied they could detect a slight quiver through the -frame, and Blanche slowly returned from the borders of the far-off Land, -as the last rays of the evening sun were gleaming upon the loch. The -blue eyes opened wearily, and she glanced shiveringly round, evidently -unconscious of where she was. - -"Morag, Morag! don't let me go!" she cried, with a look of terror. "The -river is so dark and cold! Do you not see the Golden City yet, Morag?" - -"Hush, Blanche, darling! You must not think of the river any more. You -are safe in papa's arms now!" - -Gradually Blanche returned to consciousness, and remembered what had -happened. After a bewildered glance at the group on the turf, and Miss -Prosser seated at her side, she began to understand what had brought -them all there. Presently she sat up among the blankets in which she was -imbedded, and began to look eagerly round for one familiar face which -she did not see. "Morag!" she whispered, looking inquiringly at her -papa, and then she glanced towards the rippling water, all tinged with -the gorgeous sunset hues, and there she saw floating the wreath of -rowan berries which she had twined among Morag's black locks that -afternoon. "Morag! where is she? Oh, surely not _there_? She jumped into -the loch! I remember seeing her! I remember it all now!" and Blanche -clasped her hands, and looked wildly into her father's face. - -Morag was, meanwhile, seated farther up on the bank, where she could -catch a glimpse of her friend, though she could not be seen by her. With -her usual shyness, she had fled when the castle party surrounded -Blanche; and hiding behind some alder bushes, she watched with intense -anxiety the movements within the circle. But when, at last, she heard -her own name called by Blanche, her heart gave a great throb of joy, and -in an instant she was at her wee leddy's side. - -"Morag, darling! it's all right then? I never felt so happy in my life," -said Blanche, clasping the little brown hands in her trembling fingers. -"Oh, I was so frightened when I woke up. I couldn't see you anywhere, -and felt almost afraid to ask, when I saw the rowan-wreath floating -about. Oh! it was too terrible. But do tell me, how did it all happen? -how did we ever get out of the water?" - -"We were droonin', ye ken, leddy; but Kenneth cam' runnin' doun the -bank frae the peat-moss, and took's baith oot o' the water." - -"Oh yes; by the way, where has the brave fellow gone?" asked Mr. -Clifford, getting up from the turf, where he had been kneeling by his -daughter's side, and looking about for Kenneth. - -"But Kenneth--I don't understand," said Blanche, looking perplexed. "He -wasn't with us, Morag. How did he ever come here?" - -It was, indeed, a strange coincidence that Kenneth Macpherson should -have been within sight and hearing of the loch this afternoon. It was -the first time he had been so near it since he came to Glen Eagle. He -had come to a peat-moss in the vicinity to lay in Kirsty's winter supply -of peats, having borrowed Neil's cart for the occasion. Early in the -afternoon he noticed the little girls pass on their way to the loch, as -he conjectured. He stopped his work for a moment to watch them, and -wished he had been a little nearer, so that they might have spoken to -him, as he heard Blanche's ringing silvery tones through the keen air. -And not long afterwards, when he heard the wild shriek from the loch, he -thought he recognized the voice, and leaving cart and peats, bounded -off in the direction from which it came, reaching the spot, as we know, -just in time to rescue the little girls. After his return from the -castle he had hovered near the watching group till he satisfied himself -that Blanche had recovered, and then he went again to work at the -peat-moss. - -Morag had watched him slip quietly back to his work, unheeding of thanks -or praise; and from that hour he became enshrined as a hero in her -little woman's heart. She longed to see the joy and pride which would be -reflected in Kirsty's gray eyes when she heard of her grandson's share -in the doings of this afternoon; and she felt a glow of pride when Mr. -Clifford called him a brave fellow. - -As soon as Blanche had recovered sufficiently, they prepared to carry -her away from the scene of the catastrophe. She was looking as pale as -the water-lily lying on the turf beside her. Catching a glimpse of it, -she picked it up, and handed it to Miss Prosser, saying, "You see I have -got it for you. Isn't it a beauty? It was the very last one I could -find; I remember holding it so tight when I was in the deep water. I -suppose Kenneth fished it up with me," she added, smiling, as Miss -Prosser took the dearly-won trophy from the trembling fingers, and -kissed her little pupil with more tenderness than she was wont to do. - -Poor little Morag watched her bonnie wee leddy being borne away to the -castle with the desolate feeling of being left out in the cold. The -reaction had come after the intense experiences of these past hours. She -stood watching the glad procession set out with wistful eyes, and then -she moved away in the direction of her solitary home, for she felt cold -and weary enough now. Her father had gone to the kennels before the -shooting party heard of the accident, and he now sat at home in the hut, -wondering what had become of his little daughter. - -"Papa, I remember it all now!" exclaimed Blanche, who had been lying -pale and meditative in her father's arms, as he carried her home. "I -slipped into the water just as I got hold of the lily. Morag wasn't in -sight, I remember, and I got very frightened when I felt the dark water -coming all round, and carrying me quite away from the bank. I recollect -hearing myself scream quite well, and then, in a minute, Morag stood on -the bank, stretching out her hand; but I couldn't reach it, and only got -further away than before. And just as the water was going right over me, -I saw Morag jump in, and then I don't remember anything more. Dear, -brave Morag! it was just like her, wasn't it, papa? I'm sure I should -have been much too frightened to jump into the water. But she must be as -cold and tired as I was, papa! Where are you, Morag?" asked Blanche, -looking round. - -"Yes, to be sure, pussy; we should have thought of that before. You have -been absorbing all our attention in a such troublesome manner, you see. -Where are you, little black-eyes? I saw her flitting about quite briskly -a little while ago, as if the ducking in her native waters had not -affected her unpleasantly. I declare, if she hasn't redeveloped her -propensity for scudding, Blanchie! She's nowhere to be seen," said Mr. -Clifford, glancing round the group. - -Blanche was so distressed at the disappearance of her friend, that one -of the servants was despatched in quest of her, and the little girl -being presently recaptured, she was, in spite of her entreaties, carried -off to the castle, and put under the old housekeeper's care. - -She was made quite a lion of in the servants' hall that evening, though -she was somewhat at a loss to understand why. She recounted, quite -eloquently for her, how Kirsty's grandson had saved them both, and -seemed much surprised when somebody commended her for her efforts to -save their little mistress; for it never occurred to her that any other -course would have been possible than to die with her bonnie wee leddy. - -Ellis had never taken the little native to her heart, in spite of her -little mistress' frequent triumphant reminders that the ragged maiden of -the fir-wood had proved no dangerous gypsy after all; but to-night she -was most gracious, patting the trembling little Morag condescendingly on -the head, as she led the way to Blanche's room, where Morag was summoned -in the course of the evening. - -The little bare, weather-beaten feet trod much more uneasily on the soft -carpet than among the bracken; and the friendship which had sprung up -and flourished among the woods and braes did not seem likely to thrive -in the atmosphere of a luxuriantly-furnished apartment. Blanche was -lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blue flannel dressing-gown, looking very -feeble and subdued, when Morag entered the room. She looked wistfully at -her little mountain friend, but did not speak, and Miss Prosser, who was -seated at her pupil's side, noted the mutual shyness, and considerately -withdrew. - -Beckoning to Morag to come and sit beside her, she took the little -brown hand into her fluttering fingers, and said, nervously, "Morag, -dear, I want so much to speak to you. Do you know, though it was only -such a moment of time, I thought so much when I felt going down, down -among the dark moving water all alone. And you left the pleasant, sunny -turf, and came to drown with me in that dreadful water. How could you -venture, Morag? It was too brave and kind!" and Blanche's lip quivered. - -Morag was going to interrupt her, but she went on. "Do you remember that -chapter of the Bible we were reading to Kirsty yesterday, Morag? I'm -afraid I didn't care much for it at the time, and only read it to please -her; but since I've been lying here, I seem to hear one verse of it -always. Wasn't it Jesus Christ who said that it was the greatest love to -lay down one's life for a friend? Morag, that's what you did for me. I -saw you do it. Oh, Morag, when I awoke and saw the rowan-wreath floating -about in the water, and you not anywhere to be seen!" and Blanche -covered her face and sobbed. - -All Morag's shyness seemed to vanish when she had to take the part of a -comforter. The little brown arm was quietly slipped round the bent -head, and she whispered gently, "Ye mustna think nothing o' my slippin' -in efter ye til the water. I couldna hae bidden ahin' for onything. But -ye see if it hadna been for Kenneth, none o' us would hae been gotten -oot o' the loch." And after a pause she continued, "I'm no thinkin' that -word frae the Bible would even mean the like o' Kenneth, though. Will it -no be meanin' the Lord Jesus Christ, that died o' the green hill,--as -ye're bonnie hymn speaks o'? I weel min' the day I heard it;" and then -she added, with an evident effort, "and I've aye been wantin' to tell ye -that I love Him richt weel mysel' noo, sin' yon day i' the fir-wood." - -"And is it because you love the Lord Jesus so much that you were so -brave at the loch to-day, Morag?" said Blanche, looking questioningly at -her. - -"I'm no thinkin' that exactly," replied Morag, slowly, as if she were -pondering her motives; "I'm thinkin' it was because I looed you, little -leddy, and forby, life wouldna hae seemed muckle worth gin ye had been -awa." - -"D'ye min' the bonnie picter oot o' the 'Pilgrim's Progress?' I was jist -thinkin' to mysel', on my road hame the nicht, that gin Kenneth hadna -come, we would hae gotten thegither to the bonnie toon lyin' i' the -sun,--like the droonin' folk i' the picter," and Morag looked at -Blanche, and smiled brightly. - -The little girl shook her head sadly. "You would have gone to the Golden -City, Morag; but I'm afraid I shouldn't. You see I never really thought -I should like to go to heaven. It seemed to me that it would be so much -nicer to stay always here, in this beautiful world we know and love, -than to be sent away to an unknown land. Do you know, Morag, I thought -of all that to-day, as I looked at the pleasant sunny banks of the loch, -just before the cruel, creeping water covered me all up. It made me feel -so terrified." - -There was silence for a few minutes. At last, Morag said, quietly-- - -"But I'm no thinkin' heaven isna a kin' o' land we dinna ken, when Jesus -is there Himsel', waitin' for us. He made ilka body so happy-like when -he was i' the warl'; and though we canna see Him, I'm thinkin' He's jist -the same yet. When we get til the golden gates o' the City we read aboot -i' the hinner en' o' the Bible, he wad jist be puttin' His han's on us, -and sayin' something kin' like, and we wad be feelin' at hame. He speaks -that plain like til folk here, tho' we canna see Him. I dinna think I -would be feared to gang til get a sicht o' Him." - -There was a light in Morag's eye that made Blanche feel she was speaking -of what she knew. - -"He never speaks to me like that, Morag. I don't think He can love me at -all. I'm sure He doesn't. I'm so dreadfully wicked. Besides, I'm afraid -I never cared to know about Him at all; indeed, I never felt as if He -were a real person." - -"I thocht that ance, till Kirsty telt me different," said Morag, -interrupting her. "I'm weel sure He looes you richt weel, leddy. I'm -thinking He's no far frae us, jist this minute. Will ye no speak til Him -yersel' in yer ain bonnie words, leddy? I'm thinkin' He would like weel -to be listening til the like o' you," whispered Morag, eagerly, as she -knelt by Blanche's side. - -"O Morag! do you mean that I should pray in my very own words? I -couldn't, indeed. Of course I say my prayers every night--one of the -Collects generally." - -"I dinna ken what a Collec' is," replied Morag, looking perplexed. - -"Oh, well, it's a written prayer we use in church. If you'll bring that -case of books to me, I'll show it to you." - -Blanche turned the leaves of her daintily-bound Church Service, and read -some of its strong, thrilling words of prayer, which rang like the music -of a psalm in Morag's ear. - -"That's jist terrible bonnie--a hantle bonnier than onything a body -would make up themsels. I like richt weel to hear't. Would ye jist read -a bit more, gin ye please?" and the little girl's face glowed with -pleasure as she sat listening. - -After looking meditatively into the fire for some minutes when Blanche -had finished reading, she said, slowly-- - -"Ay, that is richt bonnie; and I'm thinkin' sic sweet words maun please -Him weel. But there's jist something mak's me think He wad like a body's -verra ain words best o' a'. Now, d'ye no think, gin ye was wantin' -onything frae yer father, it wouldna be sic nateral like to read it oot -o' a bonnie buik as jist to pit your arms roun' his neck, and plead wi' -him a bittie, as I've seen you do, whiles,--and ye ken fine ye aye get -the thing ye're wantin'," she added, smiling archly; and then she -continued--"Weel, I'm thinkin' that maun be what He would hae us to do, -frae what He says Himsel'. D'ye no think that yersel', leddy?" asked -Morag, looking earnestly into Blanche's troubled face. - -"I think I understand what you mean, Morag; but I never thought of -speaking to Jesus Christ like that. Why did you not ever tell me that -you did till to-night, Morag?" asked Blanche, reproachfully. "You -remember you wanted so very much to know all about Him when I knew you -first. Dear me, Morag, you must have found out a great deal about these -things since then," added Blanche, regretfully. - -"Ay have I," replied Morag, smiling brightly. "But it was frae yersel' I -first heard His name. D'ye mind on't, leddy? I'm thinkin' I'll min' -upon't as lang as I live--and maybe efter-hin. Kirsty was jist sayin' -yestreen, she's richt sure folk dosna forget the travellin' days when -they win safe hame til the Golden City." - -"Oh! I remember. You mean that morning when I was gathering cones in the -fir-wood, and began singing a hymn. I had been singing for a long time -before I looked up and saw you. I was so astonished to see you leaning -against the tree, and so glad that I had found you again," and Blanche -laughed merrily at the recollection of the scene. Presently she became -grave again, and taking Morag's hand in hers, she added, in a low -tone--"But, Morag, you must not think I was singing about Jesus Christ -because I loved Him, or cared for the words of the hymn. I think I chose -them because they seemed to suit the air I wanted to sing. I think I do -care now, though. O Morag! you might speak to Jesus Christ yourself just -now, and I'll try, too. Perhaps he will listen to us both. Do ask Him to -teach me to be good when I go back to London. I used to be so naughty -often--you've no idea. Do, please," added Blanche beseechingly, for she -knew Morag's extreme shyness, and feared that her request might not be -complied with. - -The little mountain maiden seemed quite lifted out of her reserve. At -once the dark tangled locks went down among the bright chintz cushions, -and Morag spoke in low, reverent tones to the listening friend she had -come to know and love during these autumn days. - -Morag was still kneeling when Ellis came bustling into the room to say -that the keeper had come to fetch his little daughter. Blanche looked -much disappointed. The time had passed so quickly, and there was still -much she wanted to talk about, but she had to content herself with -arranging a meeting at Kirsty's cottage on the following afternoon. - -"We shall have so much to tell her, shan't we? And only fancy, Morag, -papa is coming, too! He says he will drive me there--that he wants to -see Kenneth to thank him. Is it not funny to think that papa has never -seen Kirsty? He says he is quite anxious to be introduced to her. Won't -it be fun to see them together? I have been telling him all the things I -want him to look at, and what chair it will be best to sit on--it would -be a pity if he took Kirsty's chair, you know. I'm only afraid he may be -too tall to get in at the door. I've been telling him he'll have to -stoop ever so much." And Blanche laughed merrily at the idea, as Ellis -hurried Morag away, saying that her father would be impatient. - -The next day was cold, and wet, and scowling. Blanche seemed very tired -and feverish, and was not allowed to leave her bed, to which, indeed, -she made no resistance--the loch adventure seemed so completely to have -exhausted her. She dozed comfortably till evening, when her papa came to -sit beside her, and she became quite lively as she listened to his -account of his visit to Kirsty's cottage, which he had paid that -afternoon. - -"Now, Blanchie, is there anything more you can possibly think of asking -concerning this visit?" said Mr. Clifford, laughingly, as he replied to -Blanche's eager questioning. "I couldn't have endured a greater fire of -cross-questioning if I had come from one of Her Majesty's drawing-rooms, -and you wanted a description of each toilette. Did I see a stool called -'Thrummy?' Well, I was almost precipitated into the fire-place, just as -I was going to make my bow to Kirsty, by stumbling over a bundle of rags -which answers to your description, so I suppose I did see the historical -'Thrummy.'" Smiling, he continued: "Then I sat down--I hope on the right -chair--but you may be sure I was dreadfully afraid of making a _faux -pas_ after all your instructions, Blanchie. I ended by having quite a -long talk with your friend Kirsty, though I had considerable difficulty -in understanding her dialect. She is really a very fine specimen of a -peasant woman. I quite admire your taste, pussy. There is a wonderful -amount of sense and pathos in her way of viewing things in general, -notwithstanding that atrocious northern dialect." - -"Oh, papa! don't say it's atrocious! I like to listen to it so much -now. I'm sure I could never like an old woman half so well if she did -not speak like Kirsty. She is the first I have ever known,--and I love -her so much," added Blanche with a sigh, when she thought how soon she -would be far away from the _ben-end_ of Kirsty's cottage, where she had -spent some of the pleasantest hours of her life. - -"Yes; she is a first-rate old woman, I allow; but she has put me in the -embarrassing position of absolutely refusing to accept any reward for -her grandson's brave conduct yesterday. Unfortunately, one is not much -accustomed to such delicacy of feeling, so perhaps I did not manage the -matter rightly. I began to see what kind of stuff she was made of, and I -did try to approach the subject as carefully as possible. But she shook -her fine old head resolutely, and would not hear of anything more -substantial than thanks." - -"Ah! that was so like Kirsty! I don't really think she would care a bit -for anything you might give her; only I do think she will be well -pleased that you went to see her, and said nice things about Kenneth. -She does always look so glad to see Morag and me," added Blanche, -smiling at the recollection of the warm reception which they never -failed to receive at the little cottage. - -"But did you not see Kenneth himself, papa?" - -"Yes, I did. The bright idea occurred to me that the grandson might be -more amenable, and before the old woman went to fetch him, I took the -precaution of asking her not to lay any commands on the boy, at all -events. She replied, in that wonderful voice of hers, 'Na, na; I'se houp -the laddie winna need nae comman's o' mine anent sic a maitter.' So -Kenneth was produced, and I thanked the brave fellow, in your name and -mine. His face quite glowed with pleasure, I saw; but when I added, -'Now, Kenneth, my little daughter wants to give you something more than -thanks for saving her life and her little friend's, though we know money -can't pay for a brave deed like that,'--or something to that effect, his -countenance fell directly, and he was quite as inexorable on that point -as his old grandmother. So we must set our wits to work to manage the -matter. I'll speak to Dingwall about it." - -"I'm so glad Kenneth didn't want to take anything," exclaimed Blanche. -"I'm sure Kirsty will be glad. She is so very anxious he should grow up -a really good man. Don't her gray eyes look so pretty when she smiles, -papa?" - -"Now, pussy, I'm not going to join in any more raptures concerning -Kirsty's eyes, or her other perfections. Good-night, darling. You are -looking quite feverish again. We shall have plenty of time to talk about -Kirsty when we get back to London, you know," added Mr. Clifford, as he -saw that Blanche looked disappointed to close the conversation. - -At last Blanche went to sleep, thinking how very nice it was to have her -papa all to herself, for a whole evening; and that, after all, though it -was very sad to leave Glen Eagle, it could not be dull in London when -her papa was to be there, as he evidently meant to be, when he spoke of -having talks about Kirsty. - - - - -XII. - -_THE EMPTY HUT._ - - -IT had been arranged that the journey southward should be postponed for -a few days on account of the loch accident; but the next morning was so -bright and pleasant, and Blanche looked so fresh and well, that there -seemed no reason for departing from the original plan, and it was -hastily decided that she and her governess should start for London, -travelling by easy stages. - -Great was Blanche's dismay when she heard of this arrangement. She had -been rejoicing over another pleasant day in the Glen, and began to think -that the loch adventure had some advantages after all, seeing it was -going to secure a few more days in the Highlands. - -"It can't possibly be true, Ellis. You had better not go on with that -packing till you get further orders," said the little girl, in a tone -more imperious than she almost ever used, as she found her maid in a -state of pleasurable bustle and excitement over boxes that were being -quickly filled. - -"Yes, missie; it's quite true, I assure you," replied her maid, without -looking up from the box over which she was stooping. "Miss Prosser says -it's a hexcellent arrangement, and, for my part, I agree with her -'eartily. It quite sets one up to think of gettin' back to civilized -existence. There's cook quite a henvyin' of me, because I'm going three -days sooner." - -"I wish I were cook, I'm sure," burst in Blanche. "But, Ellis, I'm sure -papa can't mean me to go to-day. He can't, indeed! I shall go and ask -him this minute. You'd better stop putting in those things, Ellis," she -added, impatiently. - -But Ellis smiled confidently, and went on with her work, while Blanche -ran away down the great staircase, feeling rather faint-hearted, -however, as she thought of the possibility of Ellis's tidings being -true. Below, she found everybody in a state of the most unpleasant -pre-occupation. Miss Prosser was in the midst of elaborate packings, and -smilingly assured her little pupil that they were really going. The -carriage was to be at the door exactly at twelve o'clock, so she must -make haste to be ready in time; and was it not pleasant they were going -to have such a fine day to leave Glen Eagle?--and should they not be -thankful that she was well enough to travel so soon after so serious an -accident? - -Blanche fled from Miss Prosser, along the winding passages towards the -library, in the hope of finding her papa. There was still one last -resource; she would beg him to allow her to remain, even one day, -longer. There he was, seated in the library, to be sure; but surrounded -by such piles of letters and papers, and with his most business-like -expression on his face. Several people were waiting to speak to him and -there seemed no hope of Blanche gaining an audience, unless she went -boldly up to him, and made her petition before them all. She lingered -about for a little time, trying to summon up courage, but at last glided -away without uttering a word. - -Then she wandered into the entrance-hall, and stood leaning on the old -stuffed fox, watching the pile of boxes and portmanteaus in the -court-yard, which increased in size every minute. The servants were -hurrying to and fro in a state of bustle and excitement. Evidently, to -Blanche alone these signs of departure brought a pang of regret. The -thought of those pleasant vanished afternoons was too much to be borne. -She had known that she must leave the Highland glen before long: but she -did not dream it would be such a cruel tearing away as this. - -After wandering aimlessly about for some time, she remembered that she -must see Morag before the dreaded hour arrived. She could not surely -have heard that they were really going to-day, or else she would have -come, and there was no sign of her anywhere. Blanche wandered round the -castle, among the grove of ash-trees, and into the old garden, but she -did not find her friend at any of the usual trysting-places. - -At last she made up her mind what she would do. Hurrying swiftly along -the birk-walk, where the drooping boughs were quite golden now, she -clambered up the steep ascent which led to the little shieling among the -crags. - -Blanche's spirits began to rise again. It would be so pleasant to give -Morag a surprise. Probably she would find her at work inside the -cottage. Perhaps she would be paring potatoes, as she had been on a -previous occasion, which Blanche remembered well--for had she not sat -down on a little stool beside her, and, being provided with a knife, had -pared away delightedly. She thought it the most charming of amusements; -but when she was dressing for the drawing-room that evening, Ellis had -looked suspiciously at the stained fingers, which resisted ordinary -ablutions, and Blanche, having been obliged to divulge to what culinary -uses they had been devoted that day, had been forbidden by her governess -to visit Morag again. It was therefore many weeks since she had been -within the hut; but she felt sure that Miss Prosser could not be angry -at her going on a farewell visit like this. - -The door stood open, and Blanche walked in on tiptoe, smiling to think -how astonished her little friend would be to see her. She glanced -eagerly round the room, but no Morag was to be seen anywhere. The peat -fire was burning brightly, and the potatoes lay among water in a nice -wooden dish, all ready pared. But these traces of the absent inmate only -made the disappointment keener. Blanche stood looking round, with a very -dreary feeling. It was so hard not to find Morag, and she had evidently -not been gone for long; if she had only thought of coming earlier, it -would have been all right. The dreaded hour fixed for leaving the castle -must be very near now, and what if she could not be found before then? -Blanche's heart sank as she contemplated the possibility. Before she -turned to go, she cast a lingering glance round the empty dwelling, and -she could not help remarking how much nicer it looked than when she saw -it first. - -The roof was still far from being rainproof certainly, and the earthen -floor was more undulating than was quite pleasant to walk upon; but the -most had been made of everything that was capable of improvement. There -was a sort of imitation of Kirsty's household arrangements which was -very observable to Blanche, and she smiled through her tears as she -noted it. On the shelf was ranged quite an imposing row of shining delf, -where there used only to stand a stray broken dish or two. Everything -was spotlessly clean and neat; and, in the little window, there -flourished some of the old woman's favorite flowers, of which she had -given slips to Morag. All this, and more, Blanche's quick eye took in at -a glance; and the thought of its being the work of a pair of little, -eager hands she knew well, brought quite a glow of pleasure, in the -midst of her disappointment. - -Blanche stood gazing at Morag's home till it was photographed in her -memory. And as she turned away to go down the hill, she thought that -surely Morag must have sought and found help from her unseen Friend for -all those home duties, which it must be so difficult for a little girl -no bigger than herself to have to do; and she longed to hear more about -that friendship, from the little mountain maiden. - -Gazing wistfully in the direction of the fir-wood, she wondered if she -would have time to go to see whether Morag was to be found at their old -trysting-place, the flat grey rock; but she dreaded that she would not, -so she hurried tearfully towards the castle, and only reached home as -the carriage drove to the door. She found Ellis setting out to look for -her in a state of great indignation and perplexity, having, in the midst -of the bustle, only that minute missed her charge. Some luncheon had to -be swallowed in great haste; and then, while Miss Prosser was seating -herself in the carriage, Blanche took the opportunity of darting off on -a farewell journey round the grey old keep, where she had spent so many -happy days. Only at the last minute did her papa emerge from the library -to say good-bye to his little daughter. He meant to go south by a -different route, and would not rejoin her in London for several weeks. - -Blanche felt as if all the waves and billows of trouble had gone over -her head when she accidentally heard this piece of news, as she was at -last compelled to seat herself in the carriage by Miss Prosser's side. -She could not make any response to her father's cheerful waving to her -as they were driven swiftly away. She felt the knot in her throat -getting bigger every minute as they were whirled past the pleasant -birk-walk and along the winding avenue, getting occasional glimpses -through the boughs of the spruce fir-trees of the old grey turrets, or -the moorland beyond. - -At last they got upon the high road, and drove swiftly on between the -sharply outlined mountains that reared themselves high and solemn all -round--like sentinels keeping eternal watch over the Glen, amid all the -changes that went on below. - -Miss Prosser was busied with the index to "Bradshaw," so that, -fortunately, or the reverse, Blanche was left to her own reflections. -She kept an eager watch, as they drove swiftly on in the forlorn hope of -catching a glimpse of Morag. But the familiar spots were quickly being -left behind, and there was no trace of her anywhere; and Blanche's hope -died quite away when they got into the wider range of the strath,--away -in the direction of her southern home. - -If only Blanche had not buried her face for a moment among the furs as -she was passing the larch plantation, which at a certain point skirted -the high road, her quick eye might have discovered the person she so -longed to see. - -Morag stood among the larch trees, bending under a heavy bundle of -faggots, which she had been gathering, and which she had just managed to -strap on her back. Hearing the sound of wheels on the road, she turned -to look, but was only in time to catch a glimpse of the carriage, as it -passed swiftly along by the old winding dyke. Some traces of luggage -were visible, and Ellis was seated on the box. Morag's heart sank. Was -it possible they were leaving the Glen, to-day, after all? And she had -been going cheerily on with her work that morning, in the hope of -another afternoon with Blanche. For had not Ellis told her, when she -went to inquire at the castle the day before, that the southward journey -had been postponed for several days. Only a short time ago she had been -smiling as she gathered her fire-wood, thinking how pleased Kirsty would -look when the wee leddy walked into the cottage that afternoon. But -now, the more she thought of it, the more sure she felt that those -cruel, swift wheels were carrying her away beyond their reach, to a land -that seemed terrible and unknown indeed to the little mountain maiden. - -She ran to the edge of the wood, and climbing on the lichen-spotted -dyke, she gazed wistfully along the winding road, where the shining -carriage was rolling swiftly along. And after she had watched it till it -could be seen no longer, the little girl sat down and wept bitterly. Her -bonnie wee leddy had gone without one parting word. Surely she must have -utterly forgotten her, or else she could not have acted thus. Gladly -would she have walked miles across pathless hills to touch her wee -leddy's hand, and now she had gone without ever sending to ask her to -come. And, as she sat weeping on the old grey dyke, the friendship of -these autumn days seemed to grow dreamlike all of a sudden. Had she ever -really walked by Shag's side with the little lady of the castle among -the moors, or sat with her in the _ben-end_ of Kirsty Macpherson's -cottage?--or, had she been in fairyland all these weeks? The past seemed -to grow so shadowy; and the bundle of dead sticks was so real and heavy, -as she wearily rose, at last, to take her solitary way to the hut among -the crags. - -She had only gone a few steps in the direction of home, when she saw -coming towards her through the larch trees Kenneth Macpherson. - -"Who would have thought of meeting you here, Morag?" he cheerily -accosted her. "And with such a heavy bundle of sticks, too. Let me carry -it for you--do! Why it's bigger than yourself!" he added, with a -pleasant smile, as he unfastened it and threw it across his own broad -shoulders. - -"You're going home, I suppose, Morag; ar'nt you?" he asked as he walked -by her side. "I didn't know you ever came here. I often do. I can hardly -ever pass the place without crossing the dyke. You mind the tartan -folds, Morag?" said the boy, smiling sadly, as he glanced at the lonely -spot from whence his mother's soul had gone home to God. - -"Ay do I! I mind upon't weel," replied Morag, with quivering lip. The -remembrance brought such a rush of mingled recollections that she could -not say more just then. - -"Oh, by the by, Morag, I wish I had known a few minutes ago that you -were to be found here. I saw somebody who was very anxious to get a -sight of you. Who do you think? The bonnie wee leddy, as you call her, -on her way back to London!" - -Morag stood still to listen, and as she looked earnestly into Kenneth's -face, he noticed that she had been crying. "I never kent she was awa -till I got a blink o' the cairage no lang syne. She never telt me she -was goin' the day," and the little girl struggled vainly to keep back -the tears. - -"But I'm sure it wasn't her fault that you did not know she was leaving -the Glen to-day, Morag. She seemed very sorry-like herself, and sent a -message to you. When she noticed me on the road she jumped up from among -a lot of furs, and stopped the carriage. The lady beside her was reading -a book, and she looked up some angry like, and said something sharp. I -think the wee leddy wanted to get out of the carriage to come and speak -to me, but she wouldn't let her. Then she stretched her hand down and -smiled very pleasantly, though I think she had been crying, too," added -the kind-hearted Kenneth rather pathetically, as he glanced at Morag. -"Then she began to thank me for what I did at the loch. I'm sure it -wasn't anything to thank a body so much for. Such a pretty voice she -has. It just sounded like the chimes of silver bells, Morag. And after -she had thanked me, she stooped down quite low, and whispered as if she -were afraid that the lady would hear, 'Oh, Kenneth, do you think you -could find Morag anywhere? I'm sure she can't know I've gone, or else -she would surely have come to see me.' But just then the lady rose very -angry like, and said, sharply, 'Come now, Blanche, I cannot permit this. -Drive on, Lucas!' she called out to the coachman; and then she sat down -to her book again. The wee lady seemed very vexed, and when the horses -started, she stretched down once again, and her curls came falling about -her face and she cried, 'Give Morag my dearest love!'" - -When Kenneth had finished his narration, Morag began to sob again, and -he felt greatly at a loss to know how to comfort her. But they were -tears of joy now. The feeling of bitterness was all gone. Her bonnie wee -leddy had not forgotten her, and the friendship of those autumn days was -no bit of fairyland after all. - -Kenneth did not leave her till the bundle of firewood was deposited in -the hut, and Morag had promised to come and pay them a visit at the -cottage that afternoon. - -And as he went sauntering down the hill with his hands in his pockets, -whistling a tune, he thought what a very nice girl Morag was; and how -glad he felt that it was not she who had gone away from the Glen. And he -further decided that such a great bundle of sticks was much too heavy -for a girl to carry, and resolved that, in future, he should always be -in attendance to carry home the firewood. - -As Morag re-entered the cottage, and glanced round the empty room, she -saw something lying on the earthen floor which she had not dropped -there; and stooping down, she picked up a little, half-worn glove, which -told a tale. She looked eagerly round, as if some lingering presence of -its owner must still pervade. Her bonnie wee leddy was leal and true -after all, and she felt remorseful that she had doubted her for a -moment. Kissing the token reverently, she opened the old _kist_, and -slipped it between the folds of her most precious book, where it -remained a sacred relic of that morning's visitor for many a long year. - - - - -XIII. - -_BACK IN LONDON._ - - -IT was a foggy November afternoon; the color of the surrounding -atmosphere was almost as yellow as the gorgeous damask hangings which -draped Mr. Clifford's handsome drawing-room. Our friend Blanche was -wandering listlessly up and down the room, in one of her most restless -moods, her governess remarked, as she looked up from a piece of -elaborate lace-work which was growing rapidly under her diligent -fingers. - -It was the usual hour for walking, but the unpleasant weather had kept -them indoors. Blanche seemed to find this play-hour extremely dull, and -appeared to have failed in all her efforts to amuse herself. On one of -the couches there lay open a beautiful drawing-room book of engravings, -which she had been looking at, but she knew all the pictures by heart -already, so she soon tired of turning the leaves. Then she went to the -piano to try over some old chorales of her mamma's copying, which she -had found among her music; but Miss Prosser presently remarked that she -might play something more lively on such a dismal day as this, so -Blanche, at last, glided away among the curtains, and stood looking out -on the dense fog. The amber gloom enveloped even the nearest objects, so -there was really nothing to see from the window, though Blanche stood -gazing out intently. But there was a far-away look in her eyes which -seemed to betoken that it was a mental picture which absorbed her. - -Miss Prosser again glanced uneasily at her little charge; but this time -she did not speak. Her pupil had been rather a puzzle to her of late, -and she would gladly have shared her thoughts as she stood there. It was -not her habit, however, to elicit confidences of any kind from her -pupils; and, indeed, till quite lately, it had not been necessary in -Blanche Clifford's case. Her nature was so frank and gay that her -thoughts were generally shared by those nearest to her, whether they -were sympathetic listeners or not. But, of late, a change had been -stealing over the little girl. She had grown more quiet and -self-contained than she used to be. Less wayward and troublesome she -certainly was, but her governess sometimes thought, as she looked at -her thoughtful face, that she would gladly welcome back some of the old -boisterous ways which she used to characterize so severely. - -Presently Blanche emerged from among the yellow draperies, and, seating -herself on a low stool, looked meditatively into the fire. - -"Miss Prosser, I am afraid you will think it a very silly question I'm -going to ask," she said presently, as she threw herself at her -governess' feet, laying her hands on her knees. "Do you think I begin to -get any better at all? I have been trying so hard to be good ever since -I came from Glen Eagle; but it is so difficult," added Blanche, with a -deep sigh. "There now, I tried ever so hard to write that French letter -correctly last night, and yet I had several mistakes to-day, you know." - -"My dear child, you are getting morbid. This unpleasant fog has a most -depressing effect, I know. You are a very good child, my dear. There is -no reason to reproach yourself as you do, I assure you. Only this -morning, in my report to your father, I stated that I was pleased with -your progress, and Signor Lesbini was expressing his satisfaction with -you, also," added Miss Prosser, who, however, felt rather disconcerted -by the new _role_ she had to play in taking her pupil's part against -herself. It was so unlike the bright, careless Blanche of a few months -ago; and as she glanced at the wistful, upturned face, she noticed that -the outline of the cheek was sharper than of old, and the delicate -tracery of veins on the forehead more visible. Still the child was well -enough, to all appearance, and Miss Prosser began to think that she, -too, must be growing fanciful. - -"But you don't see my heart, Miss Prosser, or you would not say I was -good," replied Blanche, looking into her governess' face with a -perplexed gaze. "You have no idea how naughty I felt to-day, when you -decided that we should not go out to walk. I think I feel oftener cross -than I used to do; and yet I try so very hard to be good," sighed -Blanche, despondingly. "Will you tell me, Miss Prosser, if you thought -much about the Lord Jesus Christ, and tried to please Him, when you were -about my age? I wonder whether my mamma did!" continued the little girl, -as she looked musingly into the fire. - -"My dear Blanche, of course it is proper that we should lead Christian -lives. You know our parents and sponsors undertook that for us, in -baptism. And one day you will be confirmed, I hope. I should like you to -go up at the same time as your cousin, Lady Matilda. By the way, -Blanche, I think I shall write and ask her mamma if she may come and -spend a day with you. You have hardly seen her since you came home. And -you shall have a whole holiday, and do whatever you like. You quite -deserve it, for you have been a most diligent child lately. We have -really been getting over a great deal of ground. And these harp-lessons, -which your papa is so anxious for you to have, do take up so much time. -Yes, I think I shall write this afternoon and ask the little Lady -Matilda to come on Friday." - -Blanche sighed, and continued her meditations among the glowing coals. -She was thinking of another friend whom she would much rather have to -spend the day. One afternoon's ramble in the fir-wood with Morag -Dingwall, she thought, would be worth half-a-dozen walks in the Park -with any Lady Matilda in the world. - -These autumn days already began to gather round them that halo which -seems always to surround past periods. The very names and places -connected with those days thrilled Blanche like the music of a song. -But, unlike her usual frank disposition, she never had these names on -her lips, but kept them like a stolen casket of precious gems, only to -be taken out and looked at when alone. So noticeable, indeed, was her -silence concerning Glen Eagle, that Miss Prosser concluded the Highland -experiences were quite out of mind; and she was not sorry, on the whole, -to think that the bond had been so quickly loosened between her pupil -and the little mountaineer. - -The maid Ellis was absent on a visit to her friends, or probably her -many garrulous memories of Stratheagle might have broken through -Blanche's reserve; but, as it was, she dwelt silently among her mental -pictures of the Highland glen. - -When Signor Lesbini, her music master, was announced, Blanche's thoughts -were far away in the _ben-end_ of Kirsty's cottage. Starting up from her -seat by the fire, she ran to find her music, while the servant placed -her harp in its usual position, and Miss Prosser and the music master -were exchanging stately salutes. - -Mr. Clifford was anxious that Blanche's taste for music should be -cultivated in every direction; and these lessons were inserted in the -educational programme by his special desire. Blanche was very anxious -that she should be able to make some pleasant sounds on the harp before -her father came home; and she was succeeding in doing so, to judge from -her master's frequent, soft, "bene,--benissimo, Signorina!" - -Miss Prosser, meanwhile retired to a distant corner of the room to write -various small scented notes to her friends. Among others, an invitation -was duly despatched to the small Lady Matilda, asking her to spend a day -with her cousin, and to go to the pantomime in the evening. The latter -part of the programme Miss Prosser kept as a reserve treat for Blanche, -who had never been to a pantomime, and wished very much to see one. - -The invitation was duly accepted on behalf of the little Lady Matilda. -She appeared on the day appointed, alighting from her smart pony -carriage, escorted by her maid and footman. She was a lean, dark, sallow -child, very different in coloring and expression from her cousin -Blanche. She always appeared in the most sleek, unruffled state of -tidiness and propriety; she looked, in fact, as if she had come into the -world precisely as she stood--at the same stage of growth, and in the -same faultless toilette. At least such was the reflection which -sometimes rose to Ellis's mind as she surveyed her with half envious, -half contemptuous eyes, side by side with her careless and often -dishevelled little mistress, whose shoulders would somehow get out of -her frocks; and one of whose shoes had been actually known to go -amissing during dinner, being afterwards brought to her, on a silver -tray, by her aunt's solemn butler. Of this terrible _faux pas_, the Lady -Matilda's maid occasionally reminded Ellis when they quarrelled over the -respective merits of their little ladies. - -Notwithstanding Miss Prosser's well-meaning efforts to create a -friendship between the cousins, they did not appear to draw to each -other in the least. The earlier hours of the day passed in uneventful -dulness--at least so thought Blanche, who shocked her governess by -yawning twice in her visitor's face, and exhibiting various other tokens -of her want of appreciation of her society. Finally, she disappeared for -a period, and returned with the cook's white kitten rolled in her smart -blue velvet dress--a trophy from among the pots and pans, and showing -too many traces of its former playground to deserve its name of Snow. - -The calm little Lady Matilda surveyed her companion's restless movements -with a look of mild surprise, glancing up, now and then, from a piece of -lace-work, on which she was bestowing great thought and care. Miss -Prosser had been admiring it greatly; and commended her diligence in a -way which reflected somewhat on her own pupil's want of that quality, -particularly as regarded needlework. - -"But what's the use of it? What do you mean to do with it, Matty?" asked -Blanche, unrolling the elaborate piece of work in question. - -"My dear Blanche, you are not always so practical, I am sure," said Miss -Prosser, coming to the rescue. "Do you not know that it is a part of -every young lady's education to be able to sew fancy work? And, besides, -the habit of diligence is so good, my dear Blanche; you ought to -remember that." - -"Well; but it seems to me that there is no use of some people being -diligent--about sewing, at all events. Don't you remember these slippers -I sewed for papa, Miss Prosser? He certainly seemed very much pleased -when I gave them to him; and I felt as if I had been really useful in -having made a pair of shoes; and thought it would be so nice to see papa -going about in shoes of my making. But, not long afterwards, I heard him -say to somebody that he detested sewed slippers, and never wore them. I -suppose he had forgotten all about the pair I made for him then, -because I'm sure he would not have wanted to hurt my feelings," added -Blanche pathetically. - -The conversation was here interrupted by the servant coming to ask at -what hour the carriage would be required; and then the delightful secret -came out at last. Blanche was in an ecstacy of delight at the prospect -of seeing a pantomime. Some time ago her governess would have checked -her glee as an unbecoming outburst, but now she hailed it as a proof -that her little charge was regaining that elasticity of spirit which she -had somewhat lost of late, and she congratulated herself on the success -of her efforts for her amusement. - -The pantomime that evening was "The Babes in the Wood," though it -certainly contained marvellous variations not suggested by the old -English ballad which it was meant to illustrate. In fact the Babes -themselves were hardly distinguishable, so surrounded were they by -moving troops of wee green folk, peeping out in all directions, and -marvellously suspended from the boughs of trees. Indeed, it is doubtful -whether the original robins could have found a branch throughout the -forest to hop on--so covered were they by dazzling fairies performing -all manner of wonderful evolutions in mid-air. - -Lady Matilda surveyed the marvellous scene with considerably more repose -of manner than her cousin. She was quite an old frequenter of such -exhibitions, so she was able to compare it with yet more gorgeous -performances, and to feel pretty sure what was coming next. - -But to Blanche, the pantomime had all the charm of novelty. She stood -entranced, gazing at the stage with eager, upturned face. More than one -frequenter of the theatre observed with amusement the eager little girl, -who was not content to view the scene from her comfortable chair in the -box, but kept leaning forward, in a bewilderment of happiness, -notwithstanding her cousin's mild suggestions that she would be very -tired before the end of the play if she did not sit down. - -Every scene was more charming and wonderful than the one which went -before. The fun among the wee green folks was getting more fast and -furious every minute. Blanche thought they looked like dragon-flies in -the sunshine, as they went flitting about. It had not occurred to her -that they were real flesh and blood creatures like herself, till, -suddenly, one dazzling little elf fell from a giddy height, on to the -stage. For a moment, Blanche fancied that the descent of the fairy was -all part of the fun; but presently a shrill cry of human pain, and a few -compassionate voices from the crowd below, caused her to realize that -underneath the mass of gauze and gilt there was a poor body in pain. - -In an instant the poor crushed fairy was borne away from the bright -scene, and the fun went on again in mad hurly-burly. But, somehow, -Blanche's eyes had grown dim, and she shrank back on her seat with a -shudder. - -"Why, what's the matter, cousin Blanche?" whispered the imperturbable -little Lady Matilda, as she surveyed her cousin's movement with mild -surprise. - -"Oh, didn't you see, Matty? I'm afraid it must be awfully hurt. It fell -from such a height--the fairy, I mean. Didn't you hear it cry? it -sounded so dreadful when we were al' so happy. I never dreamt they could -feel." - -Lady Matilda showed a row of pearly teeth as she replied, "Why, yes, of -course. How odd you are, Blanche. Didn't you know they are poor -children, who do all this for money? I should think they must be quite -used to falling by this time." - -Blanche was horror-struck. She tried to avert her eyes from the stage, -but, in spite of herself, she felt her glance riveted on the hovering -fairies, not in delight now, but in terror, lest another of them should -fall. - -"Little girls who do it for bread," Blanche repeated to herself, as she -leant back on her seat, and covered her face with her hands. And as she -sat thus, her thoughts went slipping back to the Highland glen. She -remembered the elfish-looking little form that gazed in upon her at the -window of the old castle, on that autumn morning; and she shuddered to -think how, under other circumstances, her friend Morag might have been -such a victim. Then she began to think of the poor fairy; she wondered -whether she was dreadfully hurt, and resolved that she should beg Miss -Prosser to make inquiries before they left the theatre. - -It was with a feeling of relief that she saw the curtain drop at last, -and the people begin to move away. Then she made an eager appeal that -they should go and ask after the child. The request seemed utterly -outrageous when first presented to Miss Prosser's mind; but Blanche was -so urgent that, at last, she consented to dispatch the maid to make -inquiries behind the scenes. Then Blanche began to plead to be allowed -to go, too. She was so very eager that her governess, at last, after -many injunctions to the maid, gave a reluctant consent, arranging that -she should wait in the box with the little Lady Matilda, who seemed to -view her impetuous cousin's movements with unfeigned astonishment, not -unmixed with annoyance. - -Blanche was all trembling with excitement when the maid took her hand, -and they began to thread their way through the corridors, which were -getting emptied now. Presently they met a man who was putting out the -lights, and the maid stopped to ask where they could go to inquire after -the hurt fairy. Having got directions how to proceed, they went on -through narrower and less luxurious passages--so dark and dingy-looking -that Blanche began to feel afraid, and grasped her maid's hand more -tightly. They came at last to a room, the door of which stood half open. -They were hesitating whether this was the room to which they had been -directed, when they heard a thin, feeble voice within, moaning, as if in -pain. - -"That's the fairy, I'm sure, Grant," whispered Blanche, eagerly. "Do -just peep in and see." - -The maid pushed open the door and walked a few steps forward. On the -floor stood a paraffine lamp which shed a dim light throughout the -room, showing a heap of matting in the corner, where a poor, emaciated -child lay. Gleaming through the half darkness, Blanche could distinguish -a pale, sharp, unchildlike face, that rested on a thin shrivelled hand. -A wretched mud-colored rag seemed to be her sole garment; and, at her -side, there stood a pair of big boots, or what served for them, but they -seemed almost detached pieces of leather now; besides being of a -considerably larger size than the wearer would require. Lying on a -table, in another corner of the room, was the gauzy fairy gear, at which -Blanche glanced sadly, thinking it contrasted strangely with the -wretched rags for which it had been exchanged. - -On hearing the sound of footsteps, the child started up, and looked -wildly round, as she exclaimed, "O mother! you'll not beat me this time! -I'm so bad--it's my leg! Tim said he never saw nothing like the fall I -got! Oh, my! it hurts awful!" and the child began to writhe in pain. - -"It is not your mother--poor thing! But I daresay your mother will be -here before long," said the maid, in a compassionate tone, as she -stooped down to look at the child. - -In a moment, Blanche was kneeling beside the heap of matting, her -pretty blue opera cloak falling on the grimy floor as she took the -child's little black fingers in her hands, saying, eagerly, "O poor, -poor fairy!--little girl, I mean," she added, for she could not yet -divest herself of the idea of the gauzy wings and woven spangles,--"what -a dreadful fall you had. I'm afraid you must be very much hurt!" - -The child drew her hand away, and looked sharply at Blanche. Presently -she nodded, saying, "I know; you're the pretty little girl what looked -so pleased at the pantomime. We noticed you--Tim and me. Tim's the boy -what hangs the lamps, you know. He's gone to fetch mother; but she -aren't a-comin' yet. Drinkin' again, most likely--she's always at it." - -Just then a loud-voiced, boisterous woman came staggering into the room. - -"Well, young 'un, so you've been and gone and done it again! Didn't I -tell you to mind your feet, you little idiot!" and the woman, stooping -down, seized the child and shook her roughly. - -"Oh, mother, mother, don't! I couldn't help it, noways--my head got so -giddy. Oh, I'm so bad!" the weak voice wailed out; and presently the -little face got more pale and pinched than before, and the poor fairy -fainted away. - -"You've killed her, you have--you cruel, cruel woman! How dare you speak -so?" said Blanche, quivering with indignation, as she sprang to her feet -from beside the matting where she had been kneeling, and almost sprang -at the half-tipsy woman. - -"Ho, ho! pretty bird; and who may you be? and what's your business, I'd -like to know, a-comin' between me and my brat!" shouted the woman, -folding her arms, and glaring at the little girl. - -The maid stepped forward immediately, and said, in a quiet, firm tone, -"Come, Miss Clifford, we must go at once." And then turning to the -woman, she added, "We merely came to make inquiries after the poor -child. We saw her get a dreadful fall a short time ago. I fear she is -very much hurt. I really think you will do well to look after your -child," added Grant, as she took Blanche's hand, and prepared to go. She -glanced at the poor fairy, who was still lying unconscious, and -discovering a jug of water standing near, the maid sprinkled some on the -child's face and hands, and presently she began to show signs of -returning consciousness. - -"Now, Miss Clifford, we must really go at once," whispered the maid to -the reluctant Blanche. "We've stayed much too long already. I don't know -what Miss Prosser will think." - -The woman still stood with folded arms gazing, open-mouthed, at the -group. Grant again pointed to the poor little creature, reminding her -that she should look after her child. And, at last, after a lingering, -pitying glance at the poor little cowering fairy in her rags, Blanche -suffered herself to be led away. - -They found Miss Prosser in a state of great anxiety and considerable -indignation at their delay. The maid explained the matter in a few -prompt words, while Blanche stood by the little Lady Matilda graphically -describing the sad, disenchanting scene which had followed her first -visit to the gorgeous fairy pantomime. - -And thus it happened that Miss Prosser's well-meant effort for the -amusement of her little pupil, ended in Blanche Clifford getting a -sorrowful glimpse behind the tinsel and the glitter, which only served -to deepen the thoughtful shadow that had, of late, been stealing across -her sunny, childish brow. - - - - -XIV. - -_VISIT TO THE FAIRY._ - - -BLANCHE'S temporary maid was a very silent woman, and was therefore -regarded by her little mistress as an extremely dull, uninteresting -attendant. She longed for Ellis's return to her post; forgetting all the -passages-at-arms which had taken place between them during her reign. -And especially since the evening at the pantomime, she wanted to have -somebody to talk to about the poor fairy. Grant merely replied to her -remarks in the briefest possible way; and Blanche decided that she was -hard-hearted as well as uninteresting, for, if she were not, she could -not fail to express her sympathy for the poor little girl who seemed in -such pain, and had such a dreadful mother. The remembrance of the little -pinched face quite haunted her. She went over the scene again and again -in her mind; and wondered where her home was, and what would become of -her. Miss Prosser assured her that she would certainly be taken to the -hospital, and very well cared for; but still Blanche was not satisfied. -Whenever she went out to walk, she looked eagerly, among the faces in -the crowd, for the face of the terrible mother, and she resolved that -however dreadful she looked, she would go to her and inquire about her -little girl. - -She sometimes wondered, too, whether the poor fairy knew anything about -that unseen Friend whom, in these last days, she had been learning to -know and love. It would be such a comfort to speak to Him when her -mother was so wicked and so cruel, Blanche thought, and she did not -forget to ask the Lord Jesus Christ to make the poor, bruised fairy well -again, and to soften her mother's hard heart. - -One day, in particular, she had been thinking a great deal about the -fairy; and, in the evening, after she was comfortably tucked into bed, -her maid still lingered with the candle in her hand, as if she had -something that she wanted to say. - -"I've been to see a little girl, to-day, who has not such a comfortable -bed as you have, Miss Clifford, though her poor little bones need it -sore enough." - -"Ah! have you, Grant?" replied Blanche, sitting up in bed, in a -listening attitude. "Do tell me about her. Who is she, and how did you -come to know her? Is she as poor and pinched-looking as the fairy, do -you think?" - -"She is the fairy, Miss Blanche--the poor little thing we saw at the -pantomime." - -"O Grant, you don't mean to say so! Have you really found her out? I'm -so very, very glad. It's what I've been longing to do. Where does she -live, and was she very much hurt? You must take me to see her; indeed -you must, Grant. Do tell me all about it before you go." - -The maid then narrated how, the day before, she chanced to meet the -terrible mother, in company with another woman, somewhat less tipsy than -she, and able to give Grant the information she required concerning the -poor child, who, from her account, was still very ill and very -destitute. Grant went immediately, in the mother's absence, and saw the -little girl in her wretched home. Her leg appeared to have been very -badly hurt; the doctor, whom a kind neighbor had once brought to see -her, said that she would always be lame, and the child's chief regret -seemed to be that she would never be able to act at the pantomime any -more. - -Blanche listened eagerly to all the information Grant had to give, and -before she went to sleep that night was plotting and planning how she -could accomplish a visit to the fairy's home. - -Next day, when Miss Prosser announced that she would dine out in the -evening, and had made arrangements for Grant to sit in the schoolroom -with her pupil, Blanche looked upon the circumstance as the most -delightful opportunity for carrying out her plan. Her governess very -rarely made engagements for the evening, or left her pupil to her own -devices; so it seemed to Blanche the rarest piece of good luck that she -should be going out to-night. She knew very well that Miss Prosser would -not give her sanction to a visit to the wretched little girl; and though -Blanche felt doubtful whether she was doing right in thus taking -advantage of her governess' absence, she was so bent upon seeing the -fairy again, that she tried only to look at her own side of the -question. - -She did not divulge her plan to Grant till Miss Prosser was fairly gone, -and then she brought all her coaxing artillery to bear on the maid, who -at last reluctantly yielded to her self-willed little mistress. - -It was quite a new experience for Blanche to find herself out walking -after dark. As she linked her arm into her maid's, and they began to -thread their way along the lamp-lit streets, Blanche felt somewhat of -the feeling of adventure which she had on that autumn morning at Glen -Eagle, when she found herself alone in the fir-forest. And there was a -strange resemblance between the occasions in another way, though Blanche -did not know it. On that morning she went, unconscious of it though she -was, to bring life and love and hope into the heart of the lonely little -maiden who leant against one of the old fir-trees. And, to-night, she -was going on a similar mission--not along the pleasant roads of -Stratheagle in a sunshiny morning, but through a dreary November drizzle -to a wretched haunt of misery, where a poor little desolate heart sorely -needed some ministry of love. - -Strange to say, the wretched cellar in the narrow court was not so far -distant from Mr. Clifford's stately mansion as might have been expected, -so Blanche and her guide were not long in reaching the fairy's home. - -After going down a flight of steps, Grant led the way to a dreary room. -Opening the door quietly, Blanche peeped cautiously in. The poor child -lay on a heap of straw. When the door opened, she raised her head and -eagerly scanned the visitors. Evidently recognizing Blanche, she fixed -her sharp, unchildlike eyes on her, saying, in her shrill voice, "Have -you been to it again? Aren't it a pretty pantomime? You seemed much -'appier than that t'other 'un. _We_ noticed you. I wish I was there,--I -do. It's wery dull a-lyin' here. Tim's never looked near, neither." -Then, turning to the maid, she said, in her sharp, querulous tone, -"Well, s'pose you've brought me a bit of somethink to eat. You said you -would, mind!" - -[Illustration: Morag.] - -Blanche felt rather repulsed, but she hastened to uncover a dish of -fruit which Grant had placed upon a stool near her, and handed some to -the little girl, who seized it eagerly, saying, "I haven't tasted -nothink since last night--seen nobody--she's been at it again, drinkin' -dreadful. And what made a pretty, fine lady like you come to see me?" -she asked, turning to survey Blanche more closely when her hunger was -somewhat appeased. "'Ave you got anythink else for 'un?" - -"O poor fairy! I'm so sorry for you, I came to see you because I was. I -have thought so much about you since that evening at the pantomime, and -I was so very glad when Grant told me she had found your home," said -Blanche, kneeling down beside the child and taking the little thin -fingers into her hand. The little girl glanced rather suspiciously at -Blanche, who, while Grant went to unfold a warm blanket she had brought, -came closer and whispered in a low, nervous tone, "And I came to see you -besides, fairy, because I wanted so very much to tell you about a good -Lord Jesus, who, I'm sure, loves you, and will be very kind to you. -Indeed it's only quite lately I've come really to know Him, myself. But -I'm sure He loves you very much even now, and would be such a kind -Friend for you to have." - -"Don't b'lieve it," replied the fairy, as she drew her hand away, which -Blanche had been stroking. "We see lots on 'em--Tim and me--at the -pantomime. Most likely seed this 'un. They never give us a fardin, -though we sometimes beg for somethink when they're a-comin' out of the -play. But we're forbid to, you know," she added, nodding and winking as -she glanced at Blanche's earnest face. - -"Oh! but indeed, fairy, you are quite mistaken. You couldn't possibly -see him at the pantomime. He is not to be seen anywhere at all in the -world now. But though we can't see Him, He lives still, and hears us -when we speak to Him and loves us so much,--indeed He does." - -"Don't b'lieve it. Tim says them kind hates poor folks, and that he'd -choke 'em if he could--and 'opes he'll have the chance some day." - -"Oh! but, indeed, fairy, the Lord Jesus Christ does not hate anybody," -gasped Blanche. "I know He loves everybody, and just died on the cross a -very cruel, dreadful death because He loved people so much. And, indeed, -I think He cares especially for poor, sick, sad people, who want a -friend." - -A look of interest seemed to come into the little pinched face, and -Blanche felt encouraged, and continued, in a pleading tone--"And do you -know, fairy, if you were to ask Him for anything, He will really hear -you, though you cannot see him standing there listening. I know an old -woman, and a little girl not much older than you, and they both love the -Lord Jesus Christ so much, and speak to Him a great deal. And I do, too; -but I've only begun a little while ago. But I'm quite sure He does hear -us and help us too," said Blanche earnestly. Her faith in the Saviour -seeming to grow stronger every moment as she gazed on this lost child -whom He had come to seek and to save. - -"He'd give a body somethink, you say," said the fairy presently, looking -sharply at Blanche with her cunning eyes, after she had thought over her -words for a little. - -"Well now, lady, I say it's a shabby trick of the likes of you, as has -lots of nice things, to be goin' beggin'. Look 'ere, if He be as good as -you say, just you tell Him I'm a-lyin' here wery bad--and all about it, -you know. And ask somethink--a trifle, you know, to begin with," added -the child, winking knowingly, as she stuck her tongue into the corner of -her mouth, and looked into Blanche's face to see what impression this -practical proposal made. "Look 'ere, now; you see how wery bad I want a -dress--and there's my boots won't stick to my feet no ways." - -Blanche felt sorely discouraged. She saw that she had evidently not been -able to impart to this dark soul a glimmering of what the Lord Jesus -Christ came to do. She did want so very much to make the little girl -understand what a real helper and friend He was; but she felt as if she -had only brought confusion into the poor child's mind, and failed to -represent the Saviour as anything more than a bountiful alms-giver. It -must be her fault that she could not make it plainer, Blanche thought; -and in her perplexity, she lifted up her heart to Him who turneth men's -hearts as rivers of waters, whither He will, and asked that His life and -light and love might penetrate the poor fairy's darkened soul. - -Blanche Clifford rose from her knees from beside the straw pallet with a -very despondent feeling; but though she did not know it, her prayer of -faith was of better service to the little girl than her clearest -teaching or most eloquently spoken words. - -"We must really go now, Miss Blanche," whispered the maid. "I'm afraid -of your standing in this damp place any longer. And it's getting very -late, besides. Do come now, Miss Clifford." - -Blanche made a gesture of impatience; but she quickly remembered that -she had promised Grant she would leave whenever she was asked, and so -she prepared to go without further remonstrance. - -"Good-bye, fairy. I'm so sorry I have to go now. But I'll try to come to -see you again, one day very soon. And I shall not forget to ask the Lord -Jesus Christ to come to you, and to love you and teach you Himself, and -give you everything that you need." - -"Will you, though?" replied the child, looking keenly at Blanche's -earnest, guileless face. "Don't want no teachin' much--dreadful bad for -the dress and boots, though;" and then she added, with a softer -expression on her face than Blanche observed before, "You're a nice, -pretty little thing. I likes you." Then after a pause she continued, in -a reckless tone, "Don't b'lieve you'll come again, nor send Him neither, -though. Nobody never keeps no promises. Tim hasn't; he's never looked -near." - -"Well, fairy, I know one Person who does keep promises, at any rate," -said Blanche, smiling. - -"I don't," nodded the child, decisively. "P'rhaps you keeps your -promises. You do look a nice little thing," she added, putting out her -thin fingers, and taking hold of Blanche's dress in a caressing way. - -"No, fairy; I'm sure I don't always keep my promises. It's the Lord -Jesus Christ I mean. I've just been trying to remember one of His -promises to tell you, and I've found one--it's this, 'I will give you a -new heart.' Will you try to remember to ask Him for that?--do, dear -fairy." - -"A new 'art. Well, did I ever--as if I wasn't needin' a new dress a -great sight more;" and the child threw herself back among the straw, and -laughed shrilly. - -Grant had gone to the door to try and open it in the absence of a -handle, which had been wrenched off, and Blanche took the opportunity to -whisper, "I know you need a new dress very much, poor fairy; and perhaps -He'll give you that, too. But will you ask Him--quite low, if you -like--just when you are lying here all by yourself--to give you a new -heart? That means to make you good and happy always, you know. He does -really hear, though you cannot see Him. Will you not try, fairy?" - -"Don't mind though I do. Nothink else to do lyin' here. I'm to ask a new -'art, you say,--just as if I was a-beggin' from a gintle-man on the -street, I s'pose? I know," said the child, with a nod. "Look, she's -waitin' for you--got the door open. Now, see you ax Him for the dress -and boots." - - - - -XV. - -_A RIDE IN THE PARK._ - - -ONE result of Blanche Clifford's visit to the pantomime-fairy's home was -a bad cold, which showed itself next morning. The maid immediately -explained its probable cause to Miss Prosser, taking the sole blame on -herself for having allowed the visit. But Blanche presently gave her -account of the matter, which represented herself as the sole culprit; so -the governess felt doubtful who she should blame, and finally ended by -scolding nobody. She listened with interest to the sequel of the -pantomime scene, as Blanche gave some passages from her visit to the -poor child, pleading that Grant might be sent with some needful comforts -to the wretched home. Miss Prosser readily consented; she also set about -making arrangements to have the child taken to the Sick Children's -Hospital, and commissioned Grant to try to find the mother, and gain her -consent to having her removed. - -Blanche felt rather reproached when she remembered how quickly she had -concluded that her governess would not sympathize with her interest in -the lame fairy, after she found how heartily she entered into all her -plans for helping her. - -Throughout the day she was kept a prisoner in her room because of her -cold--a state of matters which she generally resented greatly; but -to-day she felt quite happy and busy, as she helped to fill a box which -was to be taken by Grant to the fairy's home. Blanche did not forget the -special request which the fairy begged to have made for her, though -neither dress nor boots were sent in the box that morning. And before -she went to bed that night, Blanche smiled as she drew out her own -private purse to see how much pocket-money was left, for she thought she -knew what she would like to do with it. - -"How much does it cost to buy cloth for a dress, Grant--not a silk -dress, you know, or anything of that kind, but some nice warm cloth?" -asked Blanche, nervously handling the two gold pieces which were left in -her purse. - -"Well, that depends, Miss Clifford. Of course it takes more for a -grown-up person than for a child," replied the maid, who stood brushing -Blanche's long curls. - -"I wish I hadn't bought those love-birds, Grant. I shall get no more -money till Christmas, you see; and I do so want to buy a nice warm dress -for the poor fairy." - -"But I daresay Miss Prosser will allow you to give her one of your own -old dresses, Miss Blanche. I am sure there are plenty of them folded -away up-stairs that you will never wear again." - -"Oh yes, I daresay; and perhaps, afterwards, she may get some of them. -But this once I should like to get her quite a new dress--bought and -made all for herself, you know. You would shape it, would you not, -Grant? And, do you know, I want to sew it all myself--every bit of it," -added Blanche, in a confidential tone. "I daresay I might have it -finished before the poor fairy is able to be out again, if I were only -to work very hard. Don't you think so, Grant?" - -Next day Miss Prosser was consulted and gave her consent, though she -thought it seemed rather an odd idea; and laughingly remarked to the -maid that she might quite count upon having to finish the garment, as -Miss Clifford had never been known to hem half a pocket-handkerchief in -her life. But it might amuse her while her cold lasted; so Grant was -commissioned to get a selection of suitable patterns of cloth, from -which Blanche selected a warm blue woollen serge. Then she was all -impatience till the initiatory stages of shaping should be gone through, -and she should begin to sew. - -Such a diligent little woman she looked, as she sat stitching away, her -fingers all stained with the blue dye, and, all the while, planning a -similar garment for Morag, as a Christmas present. She was still -confined to her room because of her cold; and there she sat, hour after -hour, with her head bent over her work, sewing so unweariedly that Miss -Prosser felt obliged at length to remonstrate, suggesting that she -should betake herself to some amusement now, while commending her for -her diligence. Knowing well Blanche's dislike to sewing of any kind, her -governess was surprised to see such devotion to a piece of needle-work -which did not seem very necessary, and looked most unattractive; for -Blanche had not explained why she was so anxious that the fairy should -receive quite a new dress, made all for herself. - -But as Miss Prosser looked at the flushed, eager little face, bending -over the rough piece of work with such diligence and interest, it gave -her a key to her pupil which had been missing before; and she recognized -a motive power which might prove a better thing than a love for fancy -work, and could transform the impulsive, pleasure-loving Blanche into a -brave, ministering woman. - -The next day Blanche received the delightful and unexpected tidings that -her father would return home on the following evening. She had not seen -him since that eventful morning on which she left Glen Eagle, and he had -stood waving a cheerful farewell in the old court-yard of the castle -when she was so very sorrowful. - -Mr. Clifford intended to have followed his daughter shortly afterwards, -but changing his plans, he went on a tour abroad with some friends. He -had not meant to return to London till spring, so his coming was a -delightful surprise for Blanche. - -Her father so rarely lived for any length of time at home, that she had -become so far accustomed to his absence; but to have him for a little -while was an intense pleasure--to be made the most of while the visit -lasted; and Blanche built many castles in the air about the pleasant -Christmas time there could not fail to be when her papa was to be with -her. But instead of flitting about in a state of absolute idleness, -which Miss Prosser described as her usual practice, when there was any -pleasant event in prospect, Blanche stitched her happy thoughts into the -fairy's half finished garment, which grew rapidly under her diligent -fingers; only laying it aside in time to prepare to welcome her father. - -"Why, pussy, how brilliant you look; not even the breezes of Stratheagle -gave you peonies like these," said Mr. Clifford, as he looked fondly at -his little daughter, who clung to his arm with a radiant face, as they -mounted the broad staircase to the drawing-room together, after he had -divested himself of his travelling wraps. - -"How do you do, Miss Prosser? I must really congratulate you on your -pupil's appearance," said the master of the house, as he walked into the -drawing-room, and shook hands with the governess. - -Blanche presently darted off to inform Grant that her papa was really -come, and was at this moment talking to Miss Prosser in the -drawing-room, where it might be possible to have a peep at him through -the open door. She looked upon it as a great privation for Grant never -to have seen her papa, and took for granted that her maid would be full -of impatience to do so. - -"Why, Blanche, how you've grown, my child!" exclaimed Mr. Clifford, -surveying her as she re-entered the room, while he stood warming himself -by the fire. "I declare you will soon arrive at the blissful long-dress -period that has been your ambition for so long. Now come and tell me -what mischief you have been about since I saw you last, pussy! Let me -see, where was that? Ah yes, I remember--not since that morning you and -Miss Prosser left Glen Eagle. And have you quite forgotten that little -wild woman of the woods--what's her name, eh, Blanchie?" - -Mr. Clifford noticed that the peony cheek flushed even a deeper red as -Blanche replied, "No, papa; I shall never forget Morag as long as I -live. I don't see how I ever could. We shall go back again to Glen Eagle -next autumn, shan't we, papa?" - -"Oh yes; of course. I have taken the shooting for three years. It's a -first-rate place. And so you would actually like to go back to Glen -Eagle, Blanchie? Did you not find it very dull sometimes away among the -hills--confess now?" - -"Oh no, papa; indeed I didn't find it dull--not near so dull as here. I -don't see how I could ever feel dull at Glen Eagle," said Blanche, -decidedly; and then she added, "Well, perhaps if Kirsty and Morag were -both away from the Glen, and Shag could not be found to ride about on, -then it might be rather sad; because, you see, the fir-wood and all the -other places would remind me of them. It would be too sad to see the hut -without Morag living there," said Blanche, dreamily, as she thought of -the empty room which she saw on the morning she left the Glen, and of -how eagerly she had searched for her missing friend. "And how Kirsty's -cottage would look without her, I cannot imagine. But do you know, papa, -I actually dreamt last night that I went to see her, and she was not to -be found, and her old arm-chair was empty,--and the nice, cheery fire -cold and black. It was so nice to wake and find it was only a dream, -after all!" added Blanche, with a sigh of relief. - -"Well, I don't think either of your friends have migratory habits; so -you are likely to find them among their native heather next year. By the -way, Blanchie, you must send a Christmas box of presents to your friends -there. You may fill it with whatever you like best; but only do keep a -corner for me. I want to send some present to the boy who fished you -out of the loch--Kenneth--isn't that his name? Do you remember that -adventure, and how you frightened us all, you troublesome young person? -By the way, I arranged before I left Glen Eagle that Dingwall is to -train the boy for a gamekeeper,--seeing that appears to be what he has -set his heart on." - -Before many minutes had elapsed, Blanche's lively imagination had filled -a box of such probable dimensions that her father laughingly assured her -it would be much too heavy to be carried up the hill to the little -shieling among the crags. - -Presently the little girl fell into one of her meditative moods, saying -at last, with a sigh, "Well, papa, I daresay Morag and Kirsty will be -very pleased to get the box of things, and think it very kind--and all -that; but though Kirsty and Morag are so poor, I really do not think -they ever seem to be anxious for anything they have not got. I was just -remembering how Kirsty one day said to me, in that nice, queer accent of -hers, 'Bairn,'--she often called me that--'a man's life consisteth not -in the abundance of the things he has.' I can't remember exactly what we -were talking about at the time." - -"Upon my word she must be quite a philosopher, this wonderful Kirsty!" -said Mr. Clifford, laughingly, as he stroked Blanche's curls. - -"No, papa; I don't fancy she is learned enough for that; but I am sure -she is a Christian,--and is that not better, papa?" - -"Ah, I'm afraid we are getting beyond our depth now, pussy. Come, little -kittens should not look grave," he added, for Blanche had a dreamy look -in her eyes which he did not care to see. - -She was thinking of the poor fairy who was so greedy as well as so -needy; and presently she began to tell her papa a little about her, and -how she had gone to see her in her wretched home. She told him, too, -that she was making a dress for her--really of her own sewing; and, -taking for granted that her papa would be much interested in the -garment, she brought it for his inspection. But she did not tell him why -she was so very anxious to make it for her, nor that it was meant to be, -perhaps, the first token recognized by the poor fairy's dark soul of -that Love which "passeth knowledge." - -The father and daughter spent some very happy hours together on this -first evening of their reunion. And as Mr. Clifford walked up and down -the drawing-room, after Blanche had left for the night, his thoughts -dwelt with a new joy and hope on the only child of his house, whose -birth had left his home so desolate. He remembered with what a sad heart -he took for the first time the motherless babe into his arms, and what a -sorrowful welcome he could only give to her. And now he thought with -pride of what a sweet child-woman she had grown, how much she seemed to -have deepened lately, and what a beautiful woman she promised to be! Mr. -Clifford smiled to think of the time when her school-room days would be -at an end, and she would make her entrance into society to be his -companion; and he felt as if life were opening pleasanter vistas before -his eyes than it had done for many a day. - -The next morning was bright and pleasant for December; and, to Blanche's -great delight, Mr. Clifford proposed that she should have a holiday in -honor of his return, and go somewhere with him. After some deliberation, -Blanche decided that the most pleasant way to spend the morning would be -to go for a ride in the Park with her papa. - -The stately bay stood at the door at the hour appointed, but instead of -the little brown Shag, the pretty white pony Neige awaited his mistress. -Blanche had not felt so happy since she left the Highland strath as she -did when she found herself riding by her father's side. The yellow fogs -had quite withdrawn themselves; the air was keen and bracing now, and -the sun shone brightly on the winter landscape. The "Row" was gay with -riders and the drive with carriages, taking advantage of this rare -December day, and the horses' hoofs rattled pleasantly along the crisp, -frosty ground. - -More than one passer-by glanced at the pleasant-looking pair of riders -as they cantered along in the sunshine--Blanche prattling to her papa -with gay, upturned face, her long fair curls floating about, and her -pretty blue habit forming a contrast to Neige's snowy back, while her -father glanced down at her with fondness and pride reflected on his -handsome face. - -On they rode, fast and far; for the day was bright and their spirits -were high. At last Mr. Clifford reined his horse, and suggested that -they should turn homewards. - -"Now, pussy, you do purr so delightfully, and we have had such a -pleasant ride, that I think we shall beg Miss Prosser for a holiday -every bright day. Wouldn't that be a delightful arrangement, Blanchie?" - -"It would be very nice, papa. But, perhaps, there may be no more bright -days as long as winter lasts," said Blanche, taking a more desponding -view of things than she generally was apt to do. - -They had now reached home. Mr. Clifford dismounted, and lifted his -little daughter from her saddle. - -"You are looking tired, Blanche, darling. I am afraid we have rather -overdone it to-day. I quite forgot that it was so long since you had -ridden before. How pale you are, child! what is the matter?" said Mr. -Clifford in a startled tone, as he looked at Blanche. - -"I do feel rather queer, papa," replied Blanche, faintly, as she -staggered and leaned against her father for support. - -Lifting her in his arms, Mr. Clifford carried her up the broad stone -steps to the hall door, and hurrying into the library, laid her gently -down on one of the couches. - -Hardly had he laid her there when she became deathly pale, and presently -a sudden crimson flow came from her white lips, staining her blanched -cheek and fair clustering curls, and Blanche Clifford fainted away! - - - - -XVI. - -_THE BORDERS OF THE FAR-OFF LAND._ - - -MR. CLIFFORD again walked up and down his empty drawing-room where only -the evening before he had been weaving such a bright future for himself -in the companionship of his child; and now the doctors had just left him -with the terrible decision ringing in his ears--that she was dying! It -might be weeks, and even months; but the fragile frame could not long -resist the disease that had been stealthily doing its deadly work for -many weeks. - -Blanche, the pride of his heart, the heir to his fortune, was passing -away from him! Covering his face with his hands, the poor father seated -himself on the couch where only a few hours before the bright face had -been gazing into his, and the merry laugh re-echoing through the now -silent, deserted room. - -Blanche lay pale and feeble in her darkened chamber, while servants -flitted about, whispering and ministering, and Miss Prosser sat -tearfully by the bedside. - -At length the closed drawing-room door opened, and the poor, -grief-stricken father stood beside his child. They might leave him--he -would stay and watch to-night, he said huskily, as he seated himself -beside the bed. Blanche had hardly spoken since she had been taken ill; -but the sound of her father's voice seemed to rouse her, and, opening -her eyes, she welcomed him with her old sunny smile. - -"O papa, dear, is that you? It seems such an age since I saw you. I must -have been sleeping all day long. I was so tired. I think we did go too -far, to-day; but it was so nice, and I did not feel at all tired at the -time. But I shall be all right to-morrow, I'm sure." - -"I hope so, my darling!" said her father, as he kissed the uplifted -face, and stroked the curls sadly. - -"This is good-night, I suppose, papa? I have been sleeping so much that -I have actually no idea what o'clock it is," said Blanche, smiling. - -Mr. Clifford told her it was quite bed-time now; and when she turned to -sleep again, he took his seat quietly beside the chintz-curtained little -bed, promising to relinquish it towards morning to Miss Prosser, who, -tearful and anxious, begged to have a share of the watching. - -When all was silent in the room except the flickering fire, and Mr. -Clifford sat sad and anxious at his unwonted duty, Blanche seemed to get -wakeful again, and presently low tones reached his ear, meant only for -the unseen Friend whom his little girl had in these last days been -learning to know and love. - -Feebly and tremulously she whispered, as she sat up in bed, reverently -covering her face with her hands--"O Lord Jesus Christ, I am so tired -to-night, I can't remember all I want to say. But, long ago, upon earth -you used to know what people needed before they ever asked, and I am -sure you do still. Do teach the poor sick fairy all about Thyself. I -didn't seem to be able to make her understand about you; and she needs a -Friend so very much. Bless my own dear papa. Make him so happy here in -London that he will never think of going away again. I am sure you must -love him, and he must love Thee; but, O Lord Jesus Christ, I would like -him to speak about Thee, sometimes, as Kirsty used to do. - -"Help me to be good, to do everything that pleases Thee, so that Thou -may never turn away sorrowfully from me, as you used to do long ago -when people would not follow Thee;" and as she prayed, Blanche fell -asleep again, and all was silent. - -Mr. Clifford had been listening to his child's words with bowed head and -shamed heart. He felt that he was one of those from whom the Saviour -must have turned away sorrowfully many a time. Through many lands and in -many ways he had sought rest and solace, forgetting that the heart which -God has made for Himself can only find rest in Him. And his little -daughter seemed to have sought and found this satisfying portion which -he had been seeking vainly. When her earthly father and mother had -forsaken her, then the Lord had taken her up; and now He was, perhaps, -going to take her to Himself, though she did not know it. - -Kneeling beside her bed, Mr. Clifford prayed that God would pardon the -wasted, sinful past, and would give him back his child, so that, -together, they might tread the heavenward path! - -When Miss Prosser appeared to claim her share of the vigil, Blanche was -sleeping so soundly that any watching seemed almost unnecessary. And in -the morning she looked so bright, though pale and fragile, that the -anxious faces round her caught the infectious brightness, and the -gloomy forebodings of the previous day seemed already to belong to the -past. - -As the days went by, Blanche appeared really to gain strength; and -although there was still much cause for anxiety regarding her health, -there seemed some reason to hope that the fatal issue might yet be -warded off. - -Mr. Clifford spent much of his time in his daughter's sick-room. And -during these December days, as he sat by his daughter's couch, he -listened with mingled feelings to many a childish tale of joy and grief -that had marked the years in which he had borne no part. - -And so it happened that these days of illness became days of intense -enjoyment to Blanche. Ellis had returned to her post, and Blanche -confided to her that it was really quite worth while being ill, and -having to take all those nasty medicines, to have her papa all to -herself for so many days. - -The poor fairy was now comfortably housed in the Hospital for Sick -Children, and Blanche looked forward to being able to pay her a visit -there, one day before long. The half-finished dress was again taken from -the drawer, where it had been sorrowfully laid by Grant on the day -Blanche was taken ill; and now the little fingers were busy at work -again, though they looked pale and feeble enough, Mr. Clifford thought, -as he watched them, all stained with blue dye, putting the finishing -stitches into the fairy's promised garment. - -Blanche pleaded very hard that morning to be allowed to sew; and -notwithstanding Miss Prosser's remonstrances, and her papa's joke about -the ponderous piece of work which she had undertaken, she worked on, -till at last, with a wearied smile, she held out the finished dress for -her papa's inspection. - -"Look now, papa--it is finished! I have really put in the last stitch. I -am so very glad I have been able. I felt as if I could do it to-day, -somehow, and that was what made me so anxious to try, though Miss -Prosser was so unwilling I should; but I don't think it has hurt me at -all." - -"Why, Blanchie, it is the most wonderful work of art imaginable. I must -really put in my claim for a greatcoat next. The doctor says you may -have a drive to-morrow, if it is fine, and we will go to the Hospital; -and you shall introduce me to the fairy, and present the dress." - -"I hope I shall be able to go, papa. But it will be sent whether I am -or not, won't it? I think the fairy will understand why I wanted so much -to send it. I am so glad it is finished," she added, with a wearied -sigh, as she laid the dress on a chair, and went to lie on the sofa, -which she rarely did of her own accord. - -Mr. Clifford made no remark, but, as he glanced at her anxiously from -under his newspaper, he could not help noticing, as she lay quietly -there, that the little face looked worn and the outline of the cheek -sharper than hitherto. She lay with her eyes shut for some time, and -presently she said, in a low, firm tone, as she looked up-- - -"Papa, dear, come to me, I want to speak to you." - -Mr. Clifford was not a nervous man, but his hand shook as he laid down -his newspaper and went to his daughter's side, for there was a -foreboding of trouble in his heart. - -Her arm was round his neck, but she did not see his face as she said, -softly-- - -"Do you know, papa, it makes me very sad, as well as glad, to look at -that finished piece of work. Shall I tell you why? It seems to me it is -the very first useful thing I have ever done in my life; and papa, dear, -do you know it will be the last?" and the blue-stained fingers played -nervously with her father's hand as she spoke. - -Mr Clifford was going to interrupt her, but Blanche went on-- - -"Yes, papa; I know. I have known it for two days now. I'll tell you how -I came to know. I overheard Ellis telling somebody that the doctor said -I was--dying. Dear, kind Ellis; I'm sure she would be sorry if she knew -I heard that; but she must not be told. I am so glad that I do know just -a little before, though it did make me feel very sad at first. Indeed, I -cried the whole night in the dark, papa; but now I feel as if it were -all right. And I don't think I'm afraid to die now, as I should have -been when I fell into the loch," she added, in a faltering tone. - -"My darling, you must not talk so. And, besides, Ellis was not correct. -You have been very ill, but the doctor thinks you are much better now; -and when spring days come, my little Blanche will blossom again with the -flowers." - -"No, papa dear; I don't really think I am better. I shall never get well -again, I know. But, as I lay here, I was thinking how sad it seemed to -go away from the world without having been of any use to anybody. And -just lately, too, I have seemed to understand better what life was meant -for, and to be interested in things I used not to care about. Do you -know why I was so anxious to make the dress for the poor lame fairy, -papa? I think I should like to tell you," and some of her old brightness -returned as she told the story of her visit to the poor child in the -comfortless abode. "She was so sad and poor that I felt sure she would -be glad to hear about the Lord Jesus Christ. Wouldn't you have thought -so, papa? But she did not seem to care, nor to believe that He loved her -at all. At last she said that if He were to send her a new dress and -boots, she might believe He was good and kind. But I am afraid I was not -able to make her understand about the Lord Jesus Christ. I wonder how I -can best tell her about Him, papa? if I am able to go to see her again -before"--and Blanche's voice faltered. - -"My own darling! you must not speak so! You must try to get well, for my -sake, Blanchie. What should papa do without his little girl? And I am -afraid I do not know the Lord Jesus Christ really any more than the poor -pantomime fairy! You must stay with me, my child, and we will seek Him -together!" - -"Dearest papa, He does teach people so wonderfully; I am sure He will -teach you to know and love Him. But I thought you must surely have loved -the Lord Jesus Christ ever so long ago," said Blanche, musingly, and -then she lay silent for several minutes. - -Presently she turned to her father, with a face full of love and pity, -and laying her thin fluttering fingers on his arms, she said, "Papa, -dear, you will take Him for your friend now, will you not?--and He will -come and be very near you when I am far away. Kirsty says He was such a -friend to her when she was left sad and lonely in her cottage"--and with -the mention of Kirsty's name there came a rush of memories that made -Blanche's eyes fill with tears. - -Her father noticed it, and a pang of jealousy shot through his heart. -She had spoken such sad words, calm and tearless; and it seemed hard -that the thought of those peasant friends, whom she might see no more on -earth, should be a sharper sorrow to the child's heart than the parting -from himself. - -And so far he judged truly. Blanche loved her father dearly, but she did -not guess how great was his love for her, nor how shadowed his life -would be if she were gone. - -As she gazed at the bowed head beside her, Blanche realized for the -first time how great and terrible the coming sorrow was to her father, -and she began to understand how true it is that in the partings of life -"theirs is the bitterness who stay behind." - -The exertion of talking seemed to have been too much for the fragile -frame. Presently a violent fit of coughing came on, and again that -terrible crimson flow streamed from the white lips and on the deathly -face! - - * * * * * - -The winter storm had now set in, and the weather was cold and dark and -cheerless; but the interior of Blanche's room looked warm and bright as -Mr. Clifford walked into it, on his return from his lonely ride. - -On the floor there lay strewed the Christmas gifts for Glen Eagle, and -from her sofa Blanche was having an inspection of them before they were -sent away. Ellis was doing duty as show-woman; and Blanche's old gleeful -laugh, which had become a rare sound now, was heard occasionally as she -listened to her maid's remarks concerning the various beautiful -presents, as she held them up for inspection. - -Welcoming her papa with the old bright smile, Blanche beckoned him to -come and see the nice fur footstool which Miss Prosser had that morning -bought for Kirsty's cottage. - -Mr. Clifford looked very sad as he came forward and took his place by -his daughter's couch. He could not help contrasting the pale fragile -form lying there, with the ringing childish laugh, which caused him -almost to forget, for the moment, the sad reality which these weeks had -brought. - -Blanche's quick eye always detected her father's sadness, and she used -to try to chase it away by all the loving wiles which she could devise. -To the others round her she often talked of dying; but, since the time -that she saw her father's distress when the subject was approached, she -never had the courage to introduce it again, though there were many -things she wanted to say to him. - -She kept watching Ellis with wistful eyes as she gathered and carried -away from her room the scattered gifts for the peasant friends she loved -so well. - -After they were all cleared away, she lay quietly back on the sofa, and -there was a far-away look in her eyes that made her father unwilling to -ask where her thoughts were. Presently she turned to him, and said in a -low, nervous tone, "Papa, I want to ask you something. May I do exactly -as I like with all my own things?" - -"Certainly, darling. What treasure do you wish to send to the little -Morag? But I thought Ellis was doubtful if she could stow all the things -you have already sent,--eh, Blanchie?" - -"Oh, I did not mean in the box, papa! But you know it cannot be very -long now before I have to leave you--and everything," and Blanche's -fluttering fingers, so wan and wasted now, played nervously with her -father's hand as she spoke. - -"Of course you will keep everything you want--and Miss Prosser and Ellis -will, too. But I should like Morag to have some of my things when I am -gone. She has so few pretty things in the hut; and besides, I really do -think she would like to have them, just because they are mine, and they -will remind her of me when I'm far away;" and Blanche glanced round the -room at the pretty statuettes and pictures, and the rows of nicely-bound -books, of which she used to tell Morag, as they rambled among the woods -and braes of Glen Eagle. - -"Yes, my darling; Morag shall have whatever you like," replied Mr. -Clifford with an effort, as soon as he was able to speak; and presently -he continued: "My child, perhaps I should tell you that you have a great -deal more to give away than your books and pictures. You are what people -call an heiress, Blanchie. Your mother left you a large fortune, and, -besides, you will have all that belongs to me. Ah, my child! will you -not live?--I cannot let you go! There is such a bright future in store -for you--so many hopes bound up in this dear life!" - -"Yes, papa, dear; the future _is_ bright," replied Blanche, smiling. "I -was reading about it only this morning--'an inheritance, incorruptible, -undefiled, and that fadeth not away.' I learnt the words. It was strange -I never remember hearing them till to-day. But I suppose God just speaks -His own words to us when we need them and will listen to them. It's all -right, papa, dear," she continued as she put her arm round her father's -neck, as he sat with his head resting on his hand, absorbed in his own -sad thoughts. "I know the Lord Jesus Christ will comfort you when I am -gone. And then, you know, papa dear, you will not be so very long in -coming, and I shall be waiting for you, oh! so eagerly, and we shall be -so happy together in the home of God!" - -"Is it not rather difficult for rich people to be good, papa?" asked -Blanche, after she had laid pondering a short time. "If I had lived, -perhaps I might have grown into a grand lady--like some of Ellis's -mistresses that she tells me about--and got selfish and bad when I grew -old. But now, papa, dear, I shall always be your own foolish little -Blanchie," and she nestled in her father's arm, as he stroked the long -fair curls--the last symbol of health that remained. - -After she had again laid musing for some time, Blanche sat up, and with -some of her old eagerness she said-- - -"Papa, I've just been thinking that Morag is so gentle, and so clever, -and so fond of books, that I'm sure she would grow up very learned if -she were educated. I know she would like lessons a great deal more than -I used to do, and be much more diligent. Have I enough money to educate -Morag, papa?" - -"Yes, darling, quite enough; and if you wish it, it shall be done," -replied Mr. Clifford huskily, for this conversation was almost too -painful for him to continue. - -"But after all, papa, very clever people, who know everything, are not -always very happy or good--are they? And, besides, I really do not see -how her father and Kirsty could get on without Morag. And then she is so -faithful and loving--perhaps she could never be persuaded to leave them, -to be made a lady of in the world beyond her mountains," said Blanche, -smiling, as the image of her shy little mountain friend rose before her. - -"No, papa, dear," she said presently, after thinking quietly for a -little; "I really think we must give up that idea after all. I do -believe the Lord Jesus Christ would like best that Morag should stay in -the Glen and make her father and Kirsty comfortable and happy as they -get older. But I'll tell you what we might do, papa, dear. Would there -be enough money to build a nice new house for Morag and her father? That -hut among the crags must tumble to pieces one day before long, I should -think, though certainly Morag does make it look as nice as possible," -added Blanche, pathetically, for she remembered well the morning on -which she saw it last. - -Her father listened with a sad interest as Blanche told the story of -that day's troubles, and how sorry she had been to leave Glen Eagle -without taking farewell of her mountain friend. And as she told how she -had hurried up the hill to the little shieling among the crags, only to -find it empty, and glowingly described the pleasant interior into which -her friend had transformed the once wretched hut, the scene seemed to -come vividly to her memory, and to bring with it an intense desire for -life, as she lay on the borders of the far-off land! - -Some hot tears stole down her cheeks, and with quivering lip and clasped -hands she gazed wistfully into her father's face as she said-- - -"O papa! if I could only walk one afternoon with Morag in the fir-wood, -I almost think I should feel well again!" - - - - -XVII. - -_MORAG'S JOURNEY INTO THE WORLD BEYOND THE MOUNTAINS._ - - -IT was a wild night at Stratheagle. An eddying wind had been blowing the -deep snow into wreaths, and fresh falling flakes were whirling about in -all directions through the darkness. - -All trace of the road through the mountain pass had disappeared; and it -would have fared ill with the Honorable Mr. Clifford's slim English -footman, with his elegant calves, as he made his way towards the -keeper's shieling among the crags, if he had not taken the precaution of -securing a guide from the village below. - -The steep ascent to the hut was almost impassable, and more than once -the man seemed disposed to give it up and beat a retreat to his quarters -at the village without fulfilling his mission. But his more stalwart -companion cheered him on, assuring him at intervals that it was only a -"mile and a bittock," and pointed to the light in the window of the hut -long before it shed any encouraging ray on the exhausted flunkey, who -went stumbling and grumbling up the hill through the blinding drift, -feeling himself the most ill-used of persons to have been sent to such -regions in such weather. - -The light from the window of the hut was at last really visible, -shimmering through the darkness, and soon the benighted travellers stood -under the snowy crags which towered above the little shieling. - -Our old friend Morag was, meanwhile, comfortably seated in the -ingle-neuk, reading laboriously from one of her ancient yellow-leaved -volumes, little dreaming what was in store for her to-night. Her father -sat near her smoking his evening pipe, but he was not staring into the -fire in idleness and grim silence as of old. He seemed at the present -moment quite absorbed in a newspaper, the date of which was uncertain, -seeing it had been torn off when it was used for lining a packing-case -of game during autumn. But though it was not a "day's paper," it seemed -to satisfy the keeper's literary cravings, and he had carefully perused -it from beginning to end by the light of the fire of peat and pine, -which blazed brightly on the hearth. - -The snow made a warm covering round the wall, and a secure white thatch -on the porous roof, so it happened that to-night the hut was really a -more comfortable abode than it had often proved during autumn-days. - -Morag jumped to her feet when she heard the sound of voices and the loud -knocking; and now she stood gazing at her father with a look of startled -surprise. - -Laying down his pipe, the keeper prepared to open the door, but before -he had time to do so, the injured footman stood in the middle of the -floor, stamping the snow from his feet, and inspecting his precious -person generally, as he muttered expressions of indignation concerning -this unpleasant piece of service which had fallen to his lot. - -Morag recognized the visitor at once, and forgetting her shyness, she -sprang forward, saying, in low, eager tones, "Will ye no be frae the wee -leddy o' the castle? I'm thinkin' there maun be something wrang. Is she -no weel?" - -"Miss Clifford, I presume you mean, little girl. Well, you are right, so -far. I come from her father--my master, the Honorable Mr. Clifford. I -think I've got a letter for you; but 'pon my word it's been at the risk -of my life bringin' it here. S'pose I'd better read it myself?" said he, -looking round patronizingly at the keeper. - -And without waiting for a reply, he tore open the closed envelope, amid -the smouldering indignation of the keeper, to whom it was evidently -addressed, and began to read as follows:-- - - "Will Morag come to London immediately to see her little friend - Blanche, who is very ill and wants to see her? The Keeper may safely - trust his daughter to the servant, who has got all directions how to - proceed. - - ARTHUR CLIFFORD." - -"Quite safe with me, depend upon it; the master is quite right there!" -said the servant, smiling blandly at the confidence reposed in him. - -"Well, little girl, what do you say to it? You will come, I suppose? The -master has set his 'art on it, sure enough--or he would not have been -sendin' me to the hends of the earth on such a night as this. I have a -trap hired at the village, all ready to start in the morning. What do -you say to it, keeper?--rather sudden, for such quiet folks as you, -ain't it?" continued the man, smilingly glancing at the silent, offended -keeper. - -Morag sat thinking in dumb silence for a little, but presently she -sprang up, and taking hold of her father's arm, she said in her low, -eager tone, "O father! ye mustna hinner me; the bonnie wee leddy is ill, -and wantin' me--and I maun gang!" - -Then turning to the messenger, Morag asked imploringly, "She's no jist -sae verra ill, is she?" - -"Bad enough, I guess. 'Tis a pity--such a pretty little miss she was -getting to be. Master so bound up in her, too!" - -"Well, keeper, how is it to be?--for I've got to go down that shockin' -precipice again--and it's getting late. I'll take good care of the young -'un, you may be sure. And, depend upon it, you won't be the loser, -noways, by fallin' in with master's views," added the servant, with a -nod of meaning which made the proud keeper resolve instantly that his -daughter should not obey the summons. - -But never before had Morag been so wildly wilful on any matter. Her -father felt quite taken by storm as he listened to her pleadings, though -he could not yet be persuaded to give his consent. - -The servant stood waiting with evident impatience, and at last a -compromise was arranged, to the effect that if Morag was to accompany -him, she would be brought to the village inn by her father next morning, -before the hour of starting. - -It was almost midnight when Dingwall might be seen toiling across the -moorland, through the snow, in the direction of Kirsty's cottage. The -old woman and he were fast friends now, and he wanted to ask her advice -on the startling proposal concerning the little girl who was so precious -to them both. - -He found Kirsty sitting quietly reading her Bible beside the dying peat -embers. Taking off her spectacles, she listened placidly to the story, -and presently she replied in low, emphatic tones, "Dinna hinner the -bairn, keeper. Lat her gang, by a' means. 'Deed, I'm near awears o' gaen -mysel'. The bonnie lambie--an' sae He's til tak' her hame til Himsel? -Weel, weel, I thocht as muckle, whiles, when she was comin' aboot us wi' -a' her winsome ways. May she hae been early seekin' the face she will -maybe see gin lang!" - -So Morag gained her point. Her travelling preparations were not long in -being made; and, though she had not many hours of sleep that night, she -was all ready to go down the hill with her father in the morning. - -Just before she started, Kenneth came running up to the shieling in -breathless haste. He carried with him the old tartan plaid which had -done such sad duty in the fir-wood. Wrapping it carefully round Morag, -he stood watching her wistfully, as she started in the grey dawn of a -December morning on this first journey into the world beyond the -mountains! - - * * * * * - -It was Christmas Eve. A fresh fall of snow lay spotless and shining on -the ground. The moon was giving a clear, plentiful light, and as it -shimmered on the snow-covered streets and squares, it seemed suddenly to -transform them into groups of stately marble palaces. - -A pleasant crimson glow came from the close-curtained windows of Mr. -Clifford's London mansion, shedding a warm, rosy light on the white -crisp pavement in front, where stood a group of German lads singing a -fine rolling Christmas carol. - -Little did they guess how dreary and tenantless those rooms were -to-night, which seemed to them to enclose such a paradise of delights as -they kept gazing up to the windows, in the hope of an appreciative -audience from within the crimson glow. - -They did not know that the sorrowful interest of the household was -centred in one darkened room, where the only child of the house lay, -with life ebbing slowly away; nor that the largess which seemed so -munificent came from a little hand that was soon to take farewell of all -earthly treasures. - -They were still singing, by way of gracious acknowledgment of so -handsome a gift, when a cab drove up to the door of the house, and out -of it stepped our little friend, Morag. The tall footman, her escort, -ran up the broad steps, while the little mountaineer stood on the -pavement gazing round, bewildered in the midst of a scene so new and -strange. - -And this was her bonnie wee leddy's home. Did people always stand there -and sing beautifully, she wondered, as she glanced at the German -band--and then at the many bright-curtained windows of Blanche -Clifford's London home. - -At length the great hall door was opened, and a blaze of light fell on -the snowy steps. Within were vistas of gilded pillars and corridors, and -glimpses of bright soft hangings. To Morag's dazzled eyes, it seemed -like the entrance to an enchanted palace. She tremblingly followed her -guide, and the door was closed behind her, as the singing boys were -watching with interest the little girl who looked so eagerly at -everything; and somehow seemed to remind them of their sisters and their -homes in the Black Forest. - -Another tall footman, the fac-simile of Morag's guide, had opened the -door, and now he stood gazing, more curiously than kindly, at the -stranger. - -"Law, Thomas! what 'ave we got here? Well, I never. Where did you catch -that 'un," he said, with a rude laugh as he stood staring at the little -girl. - -Poor Morag certainly presented a grotesque enough appearance as she -stood there in the brightly-lighted hall, wrapped in the great tartan -plaid, which was fastened behind, while the ends fell on the ground. And -on her head she wore a little scarlet hood, a relic of her infancy, -which she had taken from the depths of the old _kist_--feeling certain -that Ellis would look on her more favorably if she wore a bonnet. But, -unfortunately, the hood was of such small dimensions that it had a -constant tendency towards the back of her neck, leaving her black -elf-like locks streaming around. - -"Come now, Sparks, none of your cheek. She's the nicest little shaver -possible--an uncommon decent little thing; wasn't no trouble on the -way, neither; always turned up all right when a fellow wanted to go and -smoke a pipe, or get a drop of somethink. My word, I'd go back with her -to-morrow, I would." - -"Where's Ellis?--ring for her, will you? I must get this little girl off -my hands now. How is missie, by the way?" - -"Better again, to-day, they say. Master is looking brisker, too. -Dreadful dull Christmas-time for a fellow, though. There's Ellis -wouldn't laugh for a sovereign." - -Meanwhile, Morag stood looking eagerly round. She felt sure that she -would see her bonnie wee leddy emerge from some of those vistas of -brightness; but when she did not come, the little girl began to feel -very forlorn as she stood there in the hall. She could not understand -what the servants were saying, and she began to wonder what was going to -happen next, and longed for a sight of her gracious little friend, who -never had failed her before. - -Morag had no idea how seriously ill Blanche was, and she had been hoping -during her journey that perhaps her bonnie wee leddy might be quite well -again by the time she arrived. She had got so quickly well after the -loch adventure; and Morag could not conceive of her looking more -fragile that she did on that evening when she saw her last, in the old -castle of Glen Eagle, lying on the sofa, wrapped in her blue flannel -dressing-gown. - -At length Ellis came bustling along; and even she was a welcome sight to -poor Morag in her forlornness. - -"Well, little girl; how d'ye do. Very glad to see you--never thought I -should feel so glad to see you. I thought you would come to see missie. -Miss Prosser told me the master had sent for you. Miss Clifford does -know not yet. She's so weak, you see; any hagitation is bad, but I -daresay you will see her in the morning. It's a good step from the -'ighlands--ain't it? I expect you are tired--poor thing," said Ellis, -glancing rather pityingly at Morag's wistful face. - -"I'm no that tired. But she's no jist verra ill, is she? I thocht maybe -she would hae been weel gin noo," said Morag, ruefully returning to the -subject that lay nearest her heart, as Ellis led her along what seemed -to her a maze of brightly-lighted passages. - -"It wasna fallin' intil the loch that hurtit her, think ye?" she asked -presently. - -"Well, now, I shouldn't wonder though that chill had something to do -with it," replied Ellis, as if she had received a new idea. "Poor dear -missie, she is so sweet--almost too good to live, as the sayin' is. -She's much better to-day. I daresay she'll be able to have a look at you -to-morrow." - -Morag's heart sank. The thought of seeing her bonnie wee leddy at the -end of her journey had kept her brave through its fears and discomforts; -but now she heard that another night must elapse before they could meet, -and she would be left alone among all those strangers. It seemed so -cruel and hard; and Morag felt sure that if her wee leddy knew she was -here, she would not ask her to wait till to-morrow. - -Meanwhile, Ellis led the way to the housekeeper's room, leaving Morag to -be warmed and fed and generally comforted by Mrs. Worthy. The old -housekeeper welcomed the forlorn little maiden kindly, and after -divesting her of the tartan plaid, and providing a comfortable supper, -she made her sit down in a big arm-chair by the fire,--and, taking a -similar one for herself, she began to recall reminiscences of Glen -Eagle, and to make inquiries about the dwellers in the Glen whose -aquaintance she had made during these autumn months. - -Presently, Blanche's illness became the topic of conversation, and -Morag listened eagerly to all Mrs. Worthy had to say about it. Her heart -sank when she heard how very ill her bonnie wee leddy had been. After -looking meditatively into the fire for some time, she looked up and said -eagerly, "I'm thinkin', Mistress Worthy, gin they wad jist bring her til -the auld castle o' Glen Eagle to bide, and lat her rin aboot wi' Shag -and Chance and me, when the snaw gaes awa, and the bit flooers begin to -creep up, she wad get braw and strong again." - -"Well, there's no sayin', little girl. I likes to see young folks take a -cheerin' view of things. 'While there's life, there's 'ope,' I always -say. There's my Sarah Jane was once a-spittin' up--and there ain't a -stronger woman to be found nowhere, now; and there's"-- - -Here Mrs. Worthy's family chronicle of illnesses was interrupted by a -bell ringing violently within the room. It sounded so startling, that -Morag jumped to her feet, and even Mrs. Worthy looked somewhat alarmed -as she rose to answer it. - -"Bless me, it ain't often that bell is a ringin'--so shockin' loud, too! -What's the hurry, I wonder?" and the old woman bustled away, leaving her -companion alone. - -Morag thought she could guess why the bell had just rung; and hoped -that it might prove a summons for her to go to the bonnie wee leddy. She -sat listening eagerly for the sound of returning footsteps, but no -messenger appeared; so Morag's hope died away at last, and she began to -feel very forlorn indeed. - -As she sat, looking dreamily into the flickering fire, she remembered -another evening when she found herself seated in Mrs. Worthy's -arm-chair, in the midst of unwonted comforts, and how very frightened -and uncomfortable she was till the wee leddy had suddenly appeared and -made her feel so safe and happy. - -And as she gazed among the glowing coals, she realized, as she never had -before, what an eventful evening that had been, and how much had -happened during these never-to-be-forgotten autumn days. All at once, -her lonely child-life seemed to be filled with love and brightness, and -the very hills and glens of her mountain home to be glorified, as she -strayed among them with her bonnie wee leddy. And then the friendship -with Kirsty Macpherson had grown out of these days too, and what happy -changes it had brought to the little shieling among the crags! Her -father's brow was cleared of its perpetual gloom; he never said bitter -things about his neighbors in the Glen now, and when Morag and he went -together to the kirk, so many people seemed glad to see him there. - -And as Morag Dingwall's thoughts went slipping back to these golden -autumn days, that had been so full of blessing for her, she lifted up -her heart in thankfulness to God for the best thing among all the many -good things which they had brought to her--the knowledge of the Lord -Jesus Christ, her Saviour. Had the wee leddy learnt to love Him too, she -wondered, as she remembered the last talk in Glen Eagle; and then she -thought, joyfully, how much there would be to hear and tell to-morrow, -when Ellis had promised she should see her friend. - -As she sat gazing into the fire, Morag fell asleep in the big arm-chair; -and in her dreams she thought she was again with Blanche, struggling -through the rippling water, like the Pilgrims in the picture. But -neither of them appeared to feel frightened, as they had when they were -almost drowned in the loch. At first the water seemed smooth and -shining, and Morag could hear the bonnie wee leddy's silvery voice -calling to her to come away, for she saw the Golden City quite clearly -now--and that the gates were really wide open still, though it was so -late at night. Then Morag, all at once, began to feel afraid, for she -could see no city lying in the sun; but only a great leaden-looking -wave, which came creeping towards her, throwing its gray shadow on the -shining water; then she lost sight of her bonnie wee leddy, and could -only hear her voice calling her to come. But Morag thought she could not -cross the dark wave, and the silvery voice began to sound very far away; -and at last she awoke, trembling,--feeling so glad to think that after -all it was only a dream. - -The fire, which had been so bright and warm when she fell asleep, was -now cold and black. The candles, too, were almost burnt to their -sockets; and Morag saw that she must have slept for a long time. She -began to wonder where Mrs. Worthy was, and whether they meant to leave -her there, till they came to take her to see the bonnie wee leddy in the -morning. - -She would not have treated her so, thought Morag, with quivering lip, as -she looked blankly round the solitary room, where everything seemed so -gray and cheerless, and she shivered as she remembered the leaden wave -of her dream, and began to feel very frightened and homesick, besides -being cold and wearied. - -Presently she heard the sound of footsteps re-echoing along the silent -corridor, and Mrs. Worthy walked slowly into the room with her nightcap -on. In her hand she carried a candle, which she almost dropped in her -astonishment at seeing Morag seated there. - -"Bless my soul, child! are you here still? I was just on my way to bed. -I declare I had quite forgotten all about you. Dear, dear, my 'ead's -quite confused--and no wonder! Poor dear, you must be sadly tired. Too -bad of Ellis not to have taken you to bed. She promised to see after you -when she was sent along to you. I've just only now come from missie's -room--dear angel: she does look so sweet. You'll see her to-morrow, my -poor dear!" - -And then, noticing Morag's wistful look as she murmured, "No the nicht," -the old woman pondered for a while, and taking the candle again, she -said, "Well, well, there can't be no 'arm: they are all cleared away -now! Come, I'll take you, poor dear. You haven't been well treated -noways among us all, and I heard the master tell Ellis that she was to -look to you, and he would see you himself to-morrow." - -Morag's heart leapt for joy. If she could only see her bonnie wee leddy -even for a minute, and feel her protecting touch again, she would -forget all her past troubles and be quite safe and happy in this strange -land. - -She followed Mrs. Worthy with joyful steps as she led her along the -passages, which were cold and dark now. She smiled as she thought how -astonished the wee leddy would be to see her mountain friend, for she -remembered Ellis had said that she was not to be told of her arrival -till next morning; but it was so good and kind of Mrs. Worthy to take -her now. And then she tried to picture to herself how Blanche would be -looking. Would she find her lying on a sofa, dressed in her pretty blue -dressing-gown, which she wore on the evening she saw her last at the old -castle of Glen Eagle? And would she seem much paler than she did then? -Morag feared she might, when she remembered what a long time she had -laid in bed; but summer days would soon come again, and the sunshine, -which the bonnie leddy loved so well, would be sure to make her strong -again. - -Indeed, in her secret heart, Morag cherished the hope that her own -presence might act as a talisman, and she smiled to think of the -pleasant voice that would soon bid her welcome; for, since the dark hour -in the fir-wood, when she thought Blanche had left the Glen without -remembering to say farewell, Morag had never doubted the love and -friendship of her gracious little friend. - -At last Mrs. Worthy stopped at a closed door, and as she lowered the -candle which she held in her hand, Morag caught sight of a familiar -friend lying on the mat. - -Chance was waiting there in a listening posture, with his nose against -the door. Morag stooped down and patted him, but, instead of jumping up -at her in outrageous welcome, as he used to do, he merely gave a faint -wag of his tail, and looking wistfully into her face, raised a low, -whining cry, and put his nose close to the door again. - -"I'm thinkin' Chance will be wantin' in--to get a sicht o' her too," -said Morag, smiling. - -"Yes, poor brute; hanimals has a deal of feelin'. He's been in a -dreadful way; indeed I thought they locked him up for the night, but he -seems to have got loose again," replied Mrs. Worthy, as she opened the -door and stepped softly in, followed by Morag and Chance. - -The little girl looked eagerly round among the mirrors and pictures and -pretty statuettes for the face which had never failed before to smile a -sunny welcome upon her, but her bonnie wee leddy was nowhere to be -seen, and a terrible stillness seemed to pervade the room. - -Drawing aside the rose-colored curtains of a little bed, which Morag had -not noticed in her eager glance round the room, Mrs. Worthy beckoned for -the little girl to come near, and Morag looked at last on the face of -her bonnie wee leddy. She seemed sleeping peacefully; the golden curls -lay in rich masses on the pillow, and the fluttering fingers were at -rest on the white coverlet. The room was dimly lighted, and a shadow -fell from the curtain on her face; so Morag drew closer that she might -see her more clearly--feeling a pang of disappointment that she was -asleep. But had not Ellis said that to-morrow morning she would speak to -her? and she could wait. - -"She's sleepin' richt soun' the noo, I'm thinkin'," she whispered softly -to Mrs. Worthy, who was holding back the curtain. - -"Sleeping! yes, my little dear, you are right. Children does put things -nice at times. Dear angel--not dead, but sleeping: a long, long sleep, -till the resurrection morn!" - -With a long, low cry of anguish, Morag knelt beside the dead body of her -bonnie wee leddy, and kissed her cold, dead hand! - -She understood it all now. Blanche Clifford had passed away on this -Christmas Eve from our lower world--with all its lights and shadows, all -its wealth and all its woe--to that other, where the pure in heart are -perfectly blessed, for they see God! - - * * * * * - -Perhaps here we should take farewell of our mountain maiden; for, with -the passing away from earth of her bonnie wee leddy, ended the childhood -of Morag Dingwall, never again to visit her, save in dreams of the night -and memories of the past! - -We shall but cast a glance across the vista of years, when these autumn -days lay far away in the calm, clear distance, and seem like a tale that -is told;--when Kirsty has laid down her frail body to sleep in the -little graveyard on the hillside, to await the coming of the Lord she -loved so well;--when the keen eyes of the keeper Dingwall no longer scan -the hills and moors of Glen Eagle, nor his steady hand takes unerring -aim; for his stalwart form lies mouldering in the shadow of the hills he -has so often trod! - -The keeper's earthly life had closed in the midst of less vivid hopes, -perhaps, and shadowed by more bitter memories, than Kirsty's blameless -years had wrought. But he, too, had learnt to live in the faith and hope -of the words which welcomed him to the table of the Lord below, and to -know it to be a "faithful saying, that 'Jesus Christ came into the world -to save sinners.'" - -The shieling among the crags, which had been his home so long, was a -roofless ruin now. And long dank grass and nettles grew on the earthen -floor, which had proved, of old, such a sea of trouble to the little -Morag. - -Kenneth Macpherson, Kirsty's grandson, reigned over the realms of deer -and moor-fowl in the Glen now; and the keeper's daughter had become the -keeper's wife. - -Their home was the loveliest spot in all the strath--a pleasant, light, -airy, well-built cottage, placed at a sunny angle of the pine forest, -which protected it from the cold north winds when they swept along the -Glen. - -Firwood Neuk, for so it had been called by its owners, possessed every -pretty and useful accessory, within and without, which peasant life -could require. It was quite a model homestead, with its wealthy -barn-yard and farmstead, and its pretty productive garden--the last -earthly gift of a little vanished hand, which had dropped its earthly -treasures as she used to do her wild flowers in these woods long ago, -when anything more precious came in sight. - -Mr. Clifford never came to shoot in Glen Eagle again; but, nevertheless, -he was more than faithful to the wishes of his child, and Blanche's -friends lacked for nothing which money could supply--humbly and -gratefully accepted by these proud Highland spirits as the benefaction -of the gracious child who had loved them all so well. - -Often, indeed, Mr. Clifford had been tempted, during the earlier years, -to go beyond his daughter's wishes when he noticed Morag's insatiable -thirst for knowledge: to take her from her quiet haunts, and bring art -and culture to aid in her training. But he called to mind Blanche's wise -decision, and left the child of the mountains to her "lowlier, more -unlettered fate." - -Still, Morag's intellectual cravings were not unprovided for. In one of -the rooms of her pleasant home there stood a pretty book-case filled -with rows of shining books--another memorial of Blanche's love. And, -among the handsome bindings, there were interspersed certain old, worn -books, which were very dear to Morag's heart, for had they not been -taken from the depths of the old _kist?_--and stood there, among the -newer volumes, like ancient historical monuments surrounded by pretty -modern villas. - - * * * * * - -It was the twelfth of August, and the keeper's wife stood waiting in the -gloaming for her husband, who had not yet returned from the moors. - -The work of the day was done, and the children safely folded for the -night,--for there were young voices again re-echoing through the forest, -and little feet toddling among the brown fir-needles. - -Her husband was not yet in sight, so presently Morag wandered into the -fir-wood, where the great aisles of pine reared themselves calm and -stately as of old. - -Leaning against one of the old red firs, which seemed written over with -many memories to her, she called to mind one August day long ago. And as -she stood gazing dreamily there, she seemed to see again the lovely, -singing child, coming like a happy fate towards the desolate little -maiden who leant there on that bright morning, to hear again the "glad -tidings of great joy" borne unconsciously by the silvery voice to a -listening ear and waiting soul, and to feel the soft, sisterly touch of -the little fluttering hand that sent glow and warmth to a heart which, -but for that touch of human sympathy, might have turned to stone. - -Morag had seen many gentle ladies, old and young, since these autumn -days long ago. The solitary Glen had got into guide-books now, and every -year brought many strangers to roam among its woods and hills; but never -could any other dwell in her memory as Blanche Clifford did--never, she -thought, could she see "her like again!" - -Many a year had come and gone since that memorable twelfth of August, -when the southern guests came to seek their pleasure among the moors of -Glen Eagle. Silver lines were visible on Morag's once raven black locks, -and her step was slower than it used to be, as she sauntered through the -old red fir-trees, which were all aglow in the sunset. - -With a sigh of weariness she at last seated herself on a gray, -lichen-spotted dyke which skirted the forest. - -"Ay! and she'll aye be young, though I'm growin' auld," she murmured, -for she still retained her ancient habit of speaking her thoughts aloud, -acquired in her solitary childhood. - -Leaning her head upon her hand, she sat watching the sun as it sank -behind the old castle of Glen Eagle. - - * * * * * - -The amber clouds were hovering round the dying sun, like ponderous gates -ready to close on the inner vistas of gold and crimson. Morag sat gazing -with glistening eyes at the cloud-land scene; she well knew that -"richest tenderest glow" which lingers round the autumnal sun, and -always loved to watch it. - - "But there sight fails; no heart may know - _The bliss when life is done._" - -"It's growin' cauld and mirk, and I maun be goin' home," murmured Morag, -as she rose to go down the hill, when all had faded into grey twilight. -Then she added, softly: "She liket weel to see the sun gae doun amang -oor hills; an' it aye min's me upo' her. Bonnie wee leddy! 'Thy sun -shall no more go down, neither shall thy moon withdraw its shining, for -the Lord is thine everlasting light, and thy God thy glory.'" - - -Stereotyped by MCCREA & Co., Newburgh, N. Y. - - - - - * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Variable or unusal spelling and hyphenation have been retained apart -from minor punctuation inconsistencies, which have been silently -corrected. The changes made are shown below. The first line indicates -the original, the second the correction. - - p. 29: - He was tall and spare and agile-look-looking - He was tall and spare and agile-looking - - p. 163: - A tarpauling was thrown over them - A tarpaulin was thrown over them - - p. 213: - in the direc- of - in the direction of - - p. 269: - the things I want him too look at - the things I want him to look at - - p. 230: - Kirsty's calm, wopshipping face - Kirsty's calm, worshipping face - - p 309: - as the most delightful optunity - as the most delightful opportunity - - p. 372: - acquired n her solitary childhood - acquired in her solitary childhood - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MORAG*** - - -******* This file should be named 42093.txt or 42093.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/0/9/42093 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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