their
light-hearted laughter.

Grace had not told the children that she meant to take them to see
little Jean that evening. She wanted first to go alone to the cottage
and see her quietly there, for she had many things to hear and ask.
Still, Grace had not been altogether a stranger to the home life there.
Sometimes a letter, written and addressed with laborious carefulness,
had followed her to remote foreign stations, and brought pleasant
memories of dewy heather and fragrant birches as she read it among
waving oleanders and palms. During all those years Grace had watched
over Jean's welfare, and many things in her pretty home told of her
thoughtful remembrance of Geordie's sister.

[Illustration: Old Scenes Revisited.]

The arrival of the family at Kirklands had taken place a few days
earlier than was intended, so Jean had not happened to hear the news,
and was all unconscious of the pleasure in store for her. How often she
had longed to see the "young leddy of Kirklands," as she still called
her, how many times she said to her husband that she would be sure to
know her anywhere, though it was so many years since she had looked
into her face. But now, as Jean sat matron-like with her sewing, in
front of her cottage, while her children played near, she wondered what
"strange lady" could be coming along the path. She called her straying
little ones to her, in case they should be in the way, but she noticed
that the stranger did not seem to think so, for she had just stopped
kindly to stroke one little flaxen head, and Jean, with a mother's
pride, felt grateful that "her bairn should be respeckit among the
rest." But when the lady, still holding the little boy's hand, began to
climb the mossy bank, and came towards her, Jean thought she had surely
seen that face before. Though not till Grace had smiled, and said,
holding out her hand, "Jean, is it possible you do not know me?" did she
recognise her old teacher.

"Oh, Miss Cam'ell, Miss Cam'ell!" she said, with a cry of delight as she
dropped her mending and rose to meet her. "Is it really yourself? I
canna believe my verra eyes."

And when Grace gazed questioningly into the serene, beaming face of the
little matron, she saw it had kept all that was best of its childish
lineaments, and felt with thankful gladness that Geordie's Shepherd had
not forgotten little Jean. Meanwhile the little loitering party came
along the road, and seeing their mother engaged in conver