sie Duff's, and the thought of how
I had behaved to her rushed in upon me with a cold misery of shame. I
would have knelt at her feet, but I could not speak my sorrow before
witnesses. Therefore I kept hold of her hand and led her by it to the
other end of the cottage, for there was a friendly gloom, the only
light in the place coming from the glow--not flame--of a fire of peat
and bark. She came readily, whispering before I had time to open my
mouth--

I'm sorry grannie's so hard to make it up."

"I deserve it," I said. "Elsie, I'm a brute. I could knock my head on
the wall. Please forgive me."

"It's not me," she answered. "You didn't hurt me. I didn't mind it."

"Oh, Elsie! I struck you with that horrid snowball."

"It was only on the back of my neck. It didn't hurt me much. It only
frightened me."

"I didn't know it was you. If I had known, I am sure I shouldn't have
done it. But it was wicked and contemptible anyhow, to any girl."

I broke down again, half from shame, half from the happiness of having
cast my sin from me by confessing it. Elsie held my hand now.

"Never mind; never mind," she said; "you won't do it again."

"I would rather be hanged," I sobbed.

That moment a pair of strong hands caught hold of mine, and the next I
found myself being hoisted on somebody's back, by a succession of
heaves and pitches, which did not cease until I was firmly seated.
Then a voice said--

"I'm his horse again, Elsie, and I'll carry him home this very night."

Elsie gave a pleased little laugh; and Turkey bore me to the fireside,
where my father was talking away in a low tone to the old woman. I
believe he had now turned the tables upon her, and was trying to
convince her of her unkind and grumbling ways. But he did not let us
hear a word of the reproof.

"Eh! Turkey, my lad! is that you? I didn't know you were there," he
said.

I had never before heard my father address him as Turkey.

"What are you doing with that great boy upon your back?" he continued.

"I'm going to carry him home, sir."

"Nonsense! He can walk well enough."

Half ashamed, I began to struggle to get down, but Turkey held me
tight.

"But you see, sir," said Turkey, "we're friends now. _He's_ done what
he could, and _I_ want to do what I can."

"Very well," returned my father, rising; "come along; it's time we
were going."

When he bade her good night, the old woman actually rose and held out
her hand to both of us.

"Good