ing.

"Eh, what?" said the nurse.

"I am sorry to say that the child is _deformed_--slightly so--very
slightly I hope--but most certainly deformed. Hump-backed."

At this terrible sentence Elspie sank back in her chair. Then she
started up, clasping the child convulsively, and faced the doctor.

[Illustration: Page 5, How daur ye speak so]

"Ye lee, ye ugly creeping Englisher! How daur ye speak so of ane o' the
Rothesays,--frae the blude o' whilk cam the tallest men an' the bonniest
leddies--ne'er a cripple amang them a ---- How daur ye say that my
master's bairn will be a------. Wae's me! I canna speak the word."

"My poor woman!" mildly said the doctor, "I am really concerned."

"Haud your tongue, ye fule!" muttered Elspie, while she again laid the
child on her lap, and examined it earnestly for herself. The result
confirmed all. She wrung her hands, and rocked to and fro, moaning
aloud.

"Ochone, the wearie day! O my dear master, my bairn, that I nursed on
my knee! how will ye come back an' see your first-born, the last o' the
Rothesays, a puir bit crippled lassie!"

A faint call from the inner room startled both doctor and nurse.

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the former. "We must think of the mother.
Stay--I'll go. She does not, and she must not, know of this. What a
blessing that I have already told her the child was a fine and perfect
child. Poor thing, poor thing!" he added passionately, as he hurried to
his patient leaving Elspie hushed into silence, still mournfully gazing
on her charge.

It would have been curious to mark the changes in the nurse's face
during that brief interval. At first it wore a look almost of
repugnance as she regarded the unconscious child, and then that very
unconsciousness seemed to awaken her womanly compassion. "Puir hapless
wean, ye little ken what ye're coming to! Lack o' kinsman's love, and
lack o' siller, and lack o' beauty. God forgie me--but why did He send
ye into the waefu' warld at a'?"

It was a question, the nature of which has perplexed theologians,
philosophers, and metaphysicians, in every age, and will perplex them
all to the end of time. No wonder, therefore, that it could not be
solved by the poor simple Scotswoman. But as she stood hushing the
child to her breast, and looking vacantly out of the window at the far
mountains which grew golden in the sunset, she was unconsciously soothed
by the scene, and settled the matter in a way which wiser heads might