ttered her, and now she was reaping her just reward. It
was the first real trial of the girl's bright, easy life. But she came
of a stock of pioneers, hardy folk, accustomed to shoulder the
adversities of life, and she bore her burden bravely. Only her mother
knew that the news of Donald meant more to her than wounded vanity.

Every day during Duncan Polite's illness, Mrs. Hamilton, as was her
custom in all cases of sickness in the village, sent one of the girls
to his house with some tempting delicacy, jellies or custards or gruel
or beef-tea, the best she could produce. Jessie had refused
positively, from the first, to take her turn at these errands of mercy;
though she had always been very willing under such circumstances in the
past. But 'Liza Cotton's words had aroused a feeling of delicacy
regarding a visit to Donald's uncle.

But one day she found it impossible to refuse. Sarah and the little
girls were at school, Bella and Maggie were away, and her mother was
preparing to make the snowy journey up to Duncan Polite's house, when
Jessie interfered. She would go this once, she said, but never again.

The morning was clear and bright, the world a dazzling vision of white,
with here and there intense blue shadows. Above, stretched a cloudless
dome of the same deep azure. The air was mild, and the girl let her
dark coat fly open, revealing a jaunty scarlet blouse; her cheeks were
pink and her eyes bright from the exercise. So it was no wonder that
as she passed the McNabbs' a pair of admiring eyes watched her, their
owner wishing he could find some plausible excuse for going up the hill
that morning. But it was Friday, and his sermon was not yet commenced.

Duncan Polite saw Jessie coming. He was able to sit up at his window
by this time and look over his little hedge of blooming geraniums at
the glittering white world. One of the little girls had always come
formerly, and he had been able to reward her with a wonderful story of
the fairies that danced on the heather in the old land, or of Bonnie
Prince Charlie, or some other charming personage. But this young lady
was different. Duncan had scarcely spoken to her since the days she
used to sit on his knee and have her turn at the stories. But he had
long known that she was Donald's sweetheart, and he saw her come with
feelings of mingled embarrassment and joy.

He arose quickly with all the natural courtesy that had earned him his
name, and had the