have been doing for the last hour. I fear I put too much upon you,
Lilias."

"Oh, now you are surely laughing at me. I wish I could do ten times as
much. Do I really help you, Aunt Janet?"

"Ay, more than you know, my darling. But put by your work for a night,
and run down the brae, and freshen the roses that are just beginning to
bloom on your cheeks. We mustn't let them grow white again, if we can
help it."

But the best time of all was when the children had gone home,--when,
with the door close shut against the wintry blast, they sat together
around the pleasant firelight, talking, or reading, or musing, as each
felt most inclined. From her father's well-chosen library Mrs Blair
had preserved a few books, that were books indeed,--books of which every
page contained more real material for thought than many a much-praised
modern volume. Read by themselves, the quaint diction of some of these
old writers must have been unintelligible to the children; but with the
grave and simple comments of their aunt to assist their understanding, a
new world of thought and feeling was opened to them. Many a grave
discussion did they have on subjects whose names would convey no idea to
the minds of most children of their age. There was often a mingling of
folly and wisdom in their opinions and theories, that amused and
surprised their aunt. Archie's lively imagination sometimes ventured on
flights from which the grave expostulations of Lilias could not always
draw him.

"To the law and to the testimony, Archie, lad," was his aunt's
never-failing suggestion; and then his eager, puzzled face would be bent
over the Bible, till his wild imaginings vanished of themselves, without
waiting to be reasoned away.

But the history of their country was the chief delight of those long
winter evenings. One read aloud; but the eyes of both rested on the
page with an eagerness that did not pass away after the first perusal.
The times and events that most interested them were gone over and over,
till they were ready to forget that they of whom they read had long
since passed away: Murray and Douglas, John Knox and Rutherford, and
Mary, lived and laboured, and sinned and suffered, still in their
excited feelings. It is true, their interest and sympathy vacillated
between the contending parties. They did not always abide by their
principles in the praise or blame awarded. Their feelings were
generally on the side of the sufferers,