es, I can not scramble as well as the rest. I am not quite
so young as I used to be."

"Nor I," he answered, as, taking her basket, he walked silently on beside
her.

It was a curious feeling, and all to come out of a foolish song; but if
ever she felt thankful to God from the bottom of her heart that she had
said "No," at once and decisively, to the good man who slept at peace
beneath the church-yard elms, it was at that moment. But the feeling
and the moment passed by immediately. Mr. Roy took up the thread of
conversation where he had left it off--it was some bookish or ethical
argument, such as he would go on with for hours; so she listened to him
in silence. They walked on, the larks singing and the primroses blowing.
All the world was saying to itself, "I am young; I am happy;" but she
said nothing at all.

People grow used to pain; it dies down at intervals, and becomes quite
bearable, especially when no one see it or guesses at it.

They had a very merry picnic on the hilltop, enjoying those mundane
consolations of food and drink which Auntie was expected always to have
forth-coming, and which those young people did by no means despise, nor
Mr. Roy neither. He made himself so very pleasant with them all, looking
thoroughly happy, and baring his head to the spring breeze with the
eagerness of a boy.

"Oh, this is delicious! It makes me feel young again. There's nothing
like home. One thing I am determined upon: I will never quit bonnie
Scotland more."

It was the first clear intimation he had given of his intentions
regarding the future, but it thrilled her with measureless content. If
only he would not go abroad again, if she might have him within reach for
the rest of her days--able to see him, to talk to him, to know where he
was and what he was doing, instead of being cut off from him by those
terrible dividing seas--it was enough! Nothing could be so bitter as
what had been; and whatever was the mystery of their youth, which it was
impossible to unravel now--whether he had ever loved, or loved her and
crushed it down and forgotten it, or only felt very kindly and cordially
to her, as he did now, the past was--well, only the past!--and the
future lay still before her, not unsweet. When we are young, we insist
on having every thing or nothing; when we are older, we learn that "every
thing" is an impossible and "nothing" a somewhat bitter word. We are
able to stoop meekly and pick up the frag