performer at Penny Readings and Church Soirees, and had been
told by a lady who had heard Sims Reeves that she preferred his
rendering of "Tom Bowling" to that of the famous tenor. This anecdote
was proudly related by his wife, and though Mr Macalister cried,
"Hoots!" and rustled his paper in protest, it was easy to see that he
was gratified by the remembrance.

Margot essayed one Scotch air after another, and was instructed in the
proper pronunciation of the words; feigning, it is to be feared, an
extra amount of incapacity to pronounce the soft "ch," for the sake of
giving her patient a better opportunity of displaying his superior
adroitness.

Comparatively speaking, Mr Macalister became quite genial and agreeable
in the course of that musical hour, and when Margot finished her
performance by singing "The Oak and the Ash," he waxed, for him,
positively enthusiastic.

"It's a small organ," he pronounced judicially, "a ve-ry small organ.
Ye would make a poor show on a concert platform, but for all that, I'm
not saying that it might not have been worse. Ye can keep in tune, and
that's a mearcy!"

"Indeed, Alexander, I call it a bonnie voice! There's no call for
squallings and squakings in a bit of a room like this. I love to hear a
lassie's voice sound sweet and clear, and happy like herself, and that's
just the truth about Miss Vane's singing. Thank ye, my dear. It's been
a treat to hear you."

The broad, beaming smile, the sly little nod behind Mr Macalister's
back, proclaiming triumph and delighted gratitude--these sent Margot up
to her room heartened and revived in spirits, for there is nothing on
earth so invigorating as to feel that we have helped a fellow-creature.
The sunshine came back to her own heart, even as it was slowly breaking
its way through the clouds overhead. She thrust her head out of the
window, and opening her mouth, drank in great gulps of the fresh damp
air, so sweet and reviving after the mouldy atmosphere of "the parlour."
Over the mountain tops in the direction from which the wind was blowing
the clouds were slowly drifting aside, leaving broader and broader
patches of blue. Blue! After the long grey hours of rain and mist.
The rapture of it was almost beyond belief! A few minutes more, and the
glen would be alight with sunshine. She would put on boots, cap, and
cape, and hurry out to enjoy every moment that remained.

The strong-soled little boots were lifted from their cor