those days."

"No, love: such a wish is not wrong, provided it doesn't act as a
temptation to neglect present opportunities. We are all by nature
self-seekers, and in no small danger of giving ourselves credit for
wishing to serve the Lord, when, maybe, He sees it is ourselves we wish
to serve. The best evidence we can give that we would honour Him in a
larger sphere is, that we strive to honour Him in the sphere in which He
has placed us."

"But after all, aunt, it would be grand to be able to do as much for
God's cause as some of those men did. I can't think that any one, to
say nothing of a poor cripple lad, has an opportunity to do as much now
as those men had."

"To do is a great thing in the sight of men. But I am thinking that, in
His sight who sees further than men can see, _to suffer_ may be greater
than _to do_. But have patience, Archie, lad. He who has given you to
suffer now, may give you to do before you die. You may have to fight
the battles of the Lord in high places. Who knows?"

"That would be near as well as to fight with the dragoons: would it not,
Archie?" said Lilias, laughing. "I'm sure it would be far easier."

"Maybe not, my lassie," said her aunt, gravely. "There may be battles
fierce and sore that are bloodless battles; and Scotland may not be
through all her warfare yet. But take the books, bairns, and let us be
thankful that, whatever may befall us or our land, we have always the
same word to guide us."

There was one drawback to the happiness of the children, this winter;
and it was felt for a time to be no slight one. They could not go to
the kirk at Dunmoor, their father's kirk. The winter rains had made the
way over the hills impassable; and the distance by the high-road was too
great for them. They learnt in a little while to love the kindly voice
of the minister of Kirklands parish, and they soon got many a kindly
greeting from the neighbours at the kirk door. But it was not the same
to Lilias as sitting in her father's seat, and listening to the voice of
her father's friend; and the getting back to the dear old kirk at
Dunmoor was always told over as one of the pleasant things which the
spring would bring back again.

At Christmas-time there came a new scholar to the school, and no small
stir did her coming make there. For the first nine years of her life,
Elsie Ray had been the neglected child of a careless and indolent
mother. At her death, Elsie had come t