e in
Norman's eye told that his part in the tale was ended; and the
adventures of an imaginary hero begun.

There was one story which they were never tired of hearing. It needed
none of Norman's imaginary horrors to chase the blood from the cheeks of
his sisters, when it was told. It was the story of the burning
steamboat, and how little Hilda Bremer had been saved from it; the only
one out of a family of eight. Father, mother, brothers, all perished
together; and she was left alone in a strange land, with nothing to keep
here from despair but the kind words of strangers, uttered in a tongue
that she could not understand. It would, perhaps, have been wiser in
Norman to have given her up to the kind people who had known her parents
in their own land; but he had saved the child's life, and when she clung
to him in her sorrow, calling him dear names in her own tongue, he could
not bear to send her away.

"These people were poor, and had many children of their own," said
Norman. "I would have thought it a hard lot for Menie or Rosie to go
with them; and when she begged to stay with me, I could not send her
with them. If it had not been so far, I would have sent her to you,
Graeme. But as I could not do that, I kept her with me while I stayed
in C, and there I sent her to school. They say she bids fair to be a
learned lady some day."

This was an item of news that Norman's letters had not conveyed. They
only knew that he had saved Hilda from the burning boat, and that he had
been kind to her afterwards.

"But Norman, man, the expense!" said the prudent Mrs Nasmyth, "you
havena surely run yourself in debt?" Norman laughed.

"No; but it has been close shaving sometimes. However, it would have
been that anyway. I am afraid I have not the faculty for keeping money,
and I might have spent it to worse purpose."

"And is the little thing grateful?" asked Graeme.

"Oh! yes; I suppose so. She is a good little thing, and is always glad
to see me in her quiet way."

"It's a pity she's no' bonny," said Marian.

"Oh! she is bonny in German fashion; fair and fat."

"How old is she?" asked Mrs Nasmyth.

Norman considered.

"Well, I really can't say. Judging by her inches, I should say about
Rosie's age. But she is wise enough and old-fashioned enough to be
Rosie's grandmother. She's a queer little thing."

"Tell us more," said Rose; "do you go to see her often?"

"As often as I can. She is very quiet; she