the stair again the minister
was gone. She pulled her wits together, stepped quickly into her own
room, and, having closed the door behind her, sat down on the bed to
recover.

Being a lass of spirit, she quickly reasoned herself out of this
foolishness, rose, washed, changed her stockings, put off her shawl for
cap and apron, and--albeit in trepidation--presented herself once more at
the door of Mrs. Johnstone's garret.

"Please you, mistress," she managed to say, "I am Kirstie Maclachlan, the
new maid from Wyliebank."

Mrs. Johnstone looked up and fixed her with a pair of eyes that
(she declared) searched her through and through; but all she said was,
"The minister tells me you can read."

"Yes, mistress."

"What books have you brought?"

Kirstie, to be sure, had two books in her bundle--a Bible and John
Bunyan's _Grace Abounding_, the both of them gifts from me.
Mrs. Johnstone commanded her to fetch the second and start reading at
once; "for," she explained, not unkindly, "it will suit you best, belike,
to begin with something familiar; and if I find you read well and
pleasantly, we will get a book from the manse library."

So the girl found a stool in the corner, and, seating herself near the
window, began to read by the waning light. She had, indeed, an agreeable
voice, and I had taken pains to teach her. She read on and on, gathering
courage, yet uncertain if Mrs. Johnstone approved; who said no word,
but continued her spinning until darkness settled down on the garret and
blurred the print on the page.

At last she looked up, and, much to Kirstie's surprise, with a sigh.
"That will do, girl, you read very nicely. Run down and find your supper,
and after that the sooner you get to bed the better. We rise early in
this house. To-morrow I will put you in the way of your duties."

Downstairs Kirstie met the minister who had been taking a late stroll in
the garden and now entered by the back-door. He halted under the lamp in
the passage. "Well," he asked, "what did she say?"

"She bade me get my supper and be early in the morning," Kirstie answered
simply.

For some reason this seemed to relieve him. He hung up his hat and stood
pulling at his fingers until the joints cracked, which was a trick with
him. "She needs to be soothed," he said. "If you read much with her, you
must come to me to choose the books; yet she must think she has chosen
them herself. We must manage that somehow. The grea