small, wee hand in mine--I reckon she sees us now;
and belike we shall soon be with her. Anyhow, God's will be done."

"Dear Gregory," I muttered, and crept nearer to him for warmth. He was
talking still, and again about our mother, when I fell asleep. In an
instant--or so it seemed--there were many voices about me--many faces
hovering round me--the sweet luxury of warmth was stealing into every
part of me. I was in my own little bed at home. I am thankful to say,
my first word was "Gregory?"

A look passed from one to another--my father's stern old face strove in
vain to keep its sternness; his mouth quivered, his eyes filled slowly
with unwonted tears.

"I would have given him half my land--I would have blessed him as my
son,--oh God! I would have knelt at his feet, and asked him to forgive
my hardness of heart."

I heard no more. A whirl came through my brain, catching me back to
death.

I came slowly to my consciousness, weeks afterwards. My father's hair
was white when I recovered, and his hands shook as he looked into my
face.

We spoke no more of Gregory. We could not speak of him; but he was
strangely in our thoughts. Lassie came and went with never a word of
blame; nay, my father would try to stroke her, but she shrank away; and
he, as if reproved by the poor dumb beast, would sigh, and be silent and
abstracted for a time.

Aunt Fanny--always a talker--told me all. How, on that fatal night, my
father,--irritated by my prolonged absence, and probably more anxious
than he cared to show, had been fierce and imperious, even beyond his
wont, to Gregory; had upbraided him with his father's poverty, his own
stupidity which made his services good for nothing--for so, in spite of
the old shepherd, my father always chose to consider them. At last,
Gregory had risen up, and whistled Lassie out with him--poor Lassie,
crouching underneath his chair for fear of a kick or a blow. Some time
before, there had been some talk between my father and my aunt respecting
my return; and when aunt Fanny told me all this, she said she fancied
that Gregory might have noticed the coming storm, and gone out silently
to meet me. Three hours afterwards, when all were running about in wild
alarm, not knowing whither to go in search of me--not even missing
Gregory, or heeding his absence, poor fellow--poor, poor fellow!--Lassie
came home, with my handkerchief tied round her neck. They knew and
understood, and the whole