Ythan fields to the hills beyond. But whether he saw them or not
was doubtful, for his eyes were dazed and heavy with trouble, and Katie
could not bear to see him so.

"She is not so very ill," she repeated. "She is sometimes better and
sometimes worse, but she has no thought that she is going to die. She
will be better soon."

"She is a good ten years younger than I am. I should go first by
rights. But she has had much to weary her, and she would doubtless be
glad to rest."

"No, grandfather, she would not. She is glad at the thought that she
will be spared a little while for--all our sakes."

"Who is that coming down the road? It is the minister, I think, and
Betsey Holt."

The old man rose hastily.

"I'll awa' up the brae," said he. "No, it is no disrespect to the
minister, but I canna hear his words to-day."

And up the hill he went to the pasture-bars, and through the pasture "to
Pine-tree Hollow," Katie thought, as her eyes followed him anxiously.

"But He may show him His face, up yonder," said Katie, with tears; "and
I am sure, and so is Miss Betsey, that she is no' so very ill."

Grannie had never thought herself very ill. Even when all her days were
spent in bed, she only called herself weary at first. There had been a
very warm week about that time, and she had suffered from the heat, and
had kept herself quiet. But she did not think herself ill, and
certainly Katie did not think it. For though she was not strong, she
did not suffer much, except that she was feverish and restless now and
then, and she was always sweet and bright and easily pleased, and not at
all like the sick people that Katie had seen. It was a pleasure to be
with her, to wait on her, and to listen to her. For there were times
when she had much to say, soothing her own restlessness with happy talk
of many things which Katie liked to hear.

She told her about her father--so grave and kind and trustworthy--and
about Hughie, who was so good and clever, but who had "gone wrong," and
been lost to them, leaving their life so dreary. And once or twice she
spoke of one over whom she had kept the silence of many a year. It was
Katie's own name she heard--but it was of another "bonnie Katie" that
her grandmother murmured so fondly, one who had been beguiled--who had
sinned and suffered, and died long ago. But she always spoke brokenly
of her when she was restless and feverish, and Katie, though she would
have liked to hea