and put it into mine. While she, puir body! looked up in a fashion that I shall never forget. Oh, but that was a peetyful, peetyful white face that she turned toward me when I took the wailing weanie, and rolled it in my coat to keep the biting air frae the wee thing! True, I did but see the dying mither's face by the light of the stable lantern which I had with me; but I felt like to greet at the sight. I canna tell you how my heart ached at the love and the woe of it!"

"And didn't you speak to her, John ?"

"Aye, as soon as I had wrapped the pretty wean in my coat, I bent doon, and said, 'Dinna fear, lassie!' You see, You see, death was upon her; and I spoke as if she had been my own sister. Somehow it came quite natural then. 'Dinna fear,' I said, 'I've a wee bairnie at hame, and it's aboot to die; and the gudewife will sorely need anither in its place. The cradle is a' ready, and the mither's heart is a' ready, dear. nourish your bairnie at her own sweet wife at hame. She's just a loving mither to her own, and a' the rest that come aboot her path. An' she'll be telling it of God, and His love, lassie; she'll teach it a' good things an' true. Are you not content for the babe to bide wi' us?'

Aye, an' she'll breast, will the

"Then her lips moved, an' I bent me doon to listen, an' clear an' distinct, I heard her say,

Yes, and God bless you.' Then I turned me awa', for my heart was ower full. But somehow, I couldna help stooping down again, an' saying, 'Lassie, dear, do you love God yoursel', noo?' Then I listened again, an' she just whispered, 'I always did.' 'An' you feel that the precious blood was shed for you?' asked I. 'Yes, oh, yes!' came the answer. Then I said, 'You are just ganging hame, dear, and my bit wean will soon be there; so, mayhap, it will be just changing aboot, who knows? Mayhap you'll be given the care of our bairnie till we come. And we'll think of that the while we tend yours. Just changing aboot, dear; just changing aboot, naething mair, maybe.'

"And while I was speaking they were just trying to move her—that is, they were moving all that lay aboot her. Then they lifted her tenderly, and got her away to the doctor's house, and shortly she died. our own bairn went. An' when I saw the puir mither afterwards, I bent me doon and kissed the cold, cold face, remembering my promise, and seeking to seal it in that way; an' thinking a’ the while that maybe the departed one, though I couldna see her, was looking on with our bit wean

That was the day before

Nae doubt this was but a fond

票

in her arms. fancy of mine; still, we canna say, we canna say! Such things are beyond our ken. God has His ain ways of comforting His ain, in heaven, nae doubt, as He has on earth."

Thus and thus, in the warmth of his heart, did John Moss promise; partly on the strength of his confidence in his wife's goodness, and of her willingness to nourish the child: but anyhow, his word given to the dying was sacred. Little Janet had a protector so long as John Moss had a hand and a voice, and a brain to devise "liberal things."

And the care of this orphan babe, and the love of it, brought comfort and blessing to the Home Farm. Rob, the big boy, used to rock the cradle between his games at marbles, and sometimes carry the bonnie wee Jeannie round the garden; while little Ben would toddle after him, his head full to overflowing-if a head may be said to overflow-concerning the little new sister which he said "the yailyoad" had brought.

And as the years passed on, and her days of childish play with Ben gave place to books and household duties, and as the waif developed into a bright, blithe lassie, both Mr. and Mrs. Moss remained staunch in their affection and loyal to

C

their trust.

And "the laddies," as the farmer called his sons, often styled the only maiden of the family their "pretty queen." And they were uniformly gentle and chivalrous to the sunbeam of their home.

66

Always the same, Darby, my own,
Always the same to your old wife, Joan."

AVING made the reader, in some measure, acquainted with Janet Rushmere's early history, I will return to the farmer as he walks that "outragerous" horse of his leisurely up the hill which Janet had just descendedmercifully too, as well as leisurely, for it is market day at the county town, and Barney has had a long trot with a heavy man on his back. He knows, however, that fresh water, good corn, and a clean, sweet bed await him; so he gives his