ike air fell from her. Her eyes grew
somber, she looked far away down the crimson and golden vista of
Champlain's Road.

"Ah'd no be left this way, lassie, gin ma' lad, Tam, had been spared
me. He wes oor only bairn, an' ah sometimes think the Lord surely
micht a' left me him. But He kens best," she sighed brokenly, "aye,
aye, He kens best. But it wes a hard day for me the last time they
brocht ma Tam to me. He'd jist gaed awa wi' the lads aefter his
supper, an' it wes no an oor, till they brocht ma bairnie hame drooned.
An' ah couldna even see his bonny face. He'd fallen aff a bridge, an'
bruised it that bad. Aye, aye,"--a big sigh came again
convulsively,--"an' his faether not deid a month. Ma Tam wes sax feet
in his socks--a bonny lad, an' eh, eh, sik a guid laddie to his mither."

Elizabeth felt a lump rising in her throat. She stroked the black
alpaca arm next her in silent sympathy. Auntie Jinit fumbled in her
black leather bag, and brought out a neatly folded handkerchief with
which she wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. There
was a long silence.

"So ye see, Lizzie, lass," she said at length, her voice still thrilled
with the sorrow of her great motherless, "ye see, lassie, ah've naebody
but Wully an' Betsey to look to. Ma Jeams left me a wee bit siller,
but it's no enough gin a wes pit oot in the warld, an' if Wully slips
awa' ah canna say whit'll happen--so ah must look for a hame, ye ken.
An' there's this ane ah kin have." She tossed her head towards the
receding farm-house. The coquettish all-sufficient air was returning.

"Oh, yes; but, Auntie Jinit," said Elizabeth very gently, "you
know--he--Mr. Martin, you know, he's a little--well, the neighbors say
he's rather disagreeable at home."

"Hits!" said Auntie Jinit lightly. "He couldna be ony waur than the
man ah had. Ah'm no feared but ah'll manage _him_." She drew her
mouth up into a firm line, and Elizabeth looked at her, forced to
admiration. Certainly Mrs. McKerracher was a many-sided woman--and one
perfectly capable of taking care of herself. "But ah'm wantin' ye,
lassie," she lowered her voice, "jist to speak quiet like to Maister
Coulson. Ah want to know jist how _he's_ fixed." She pointed with her
thumb towards the big, red brick house of Jake Martin. "He tells me
braw tales aboot his siller, but ah'm jalousin' he's no tae be trusted.
The first time he cam' sparkin', he tauld me he wes jist fufty-sax, an'