hin the bounds of possibility
that Doctor Saunderson might refer to his friend, but on her part she
would certainly not refer to the Free Church minister of Drumtochty.
Her reception by that conscientious professor Barbara could not be
called encouraging.

"Ay, he 's in, but ye canna see him, for he's in his bed, and gin he
disna mend faster than he wes daein' the last time a' gied him a cry,
he 's no like to be in the pulpit on Sabbath. A' wes juist thinkin' he
wudna be the waur o' a doctor."

[Illustration: "Ay, he 's in, but ye canna see him.]

"Do you mean to say that Doctor Saunderson is lying ill and no one
nursing him?" and Kate eyed the housekeeper in a very unappreciative
fashion.

"Gin he wants a nurse she 'll hae tae be brocht frae Muirtown
Infirmary, for a 've eneuch withoot ony fyke (delicate work) o' that
kind. For twal year hev a' been hoosekeeper in this manse, an' gin it
hedna been for peety a' wad hae flung up the place.

"Ye never cud tell when he wud come in, or when he wud gae oot, or what
he wud be wantin' next. A' the waufies in the countryside come here,
and the best in the hoose is no gude eneuch for them. He's been an
awfu' handfu' tae me, an' noo a'coont him clean dottle. But we maun
juist bear oor burdens," concluded Barbara piously, and proposed to
close the door.

"Your master will not want a nurse a minute longer; show me his room at
once," and Kate was so commanding that Barbara's courage began to fail.

"Who may ye be," raising her voice to rally her heart, "'at wud take
chairge o' a strainger in his ain hoose an' no sae muckle as ask leave?"

"I am Miss Carnegie, of Tochty Lodge; will you stand out of my way?"
and Kate swept past Barbara and went upstairs.

"Weel, a' declare," as soon as she had recovered, "of a' the impudent
hizzies," but Barbara did not follow the intruder upstairs.

Kate had seen various curious hospitals in her day, and had nursed many
sick men,--like the brave girl she was,--but the Rabbi's room was
something quite new. His favourite books had been gathering there for
years, and now lined two walls and overhung the bed after a very
perilous fashion, and had dispossessed the looking-glass,--which had
become a nomad and was at present resting insecurely on John Owen,--and
stood in banks round the bed. During his few days of illness the Rabbi
had accumulated so many volumes round him that he lay in a kind of
tunnel, arched over, as it were, with lit