at I desired. It never
occurred to me that things could not go on so; that a change must
come; that as life cannot linger in the bud, but is compelled by the
sunshine and air into the flower, so life would go on and on, and
things would change, and the time blossom into something else, and my
love find itself set out-of-doors in the midst of strange plants and a
new order of things.

When school was over, I walked home with her--not alone, for Turkey
was always on the other side. I had not a suspicion that Turkey's
admiration of Elsie could ever come into collision with mine. We
joined in praising her, but my admiration ever found more words than
Turkey's, and I thought my love to her was greater than his.

We seldom went into her grandmother's cottage, for she did not make us
welcome. After we had taken her home we generally repaired to Turkey's
mother, with whom we were sure of a kind reception. She was a patient
diligent woman, who looked as if she had nearly done with life, and
had only to gather up the crumbs of it. I have often wondered since,
what was her deepest thought--whether she was content to be unhappy,
or whether she lived in hope of some blessedness beyond. It is
marvellous with how little happiness some people can get through the
world. Surely they are inwardly sustained with something even better
than joy.

"Did you ever hear my mother sing?" asked Turkey, as we sat together
over her little fire, on one of these occasions.

"No. I should like very much," I answered.

The room was lighted only by a little oil-lamp, for there was no flame
to the fire of peats and dried oak-bark.

"She sings such queer ballads as you never heard," said Turkey. "Give
us one, mother; do."

She yielded, and, in a low chanting voice, sang something like this:--

Up cam' the waves o' the tide wi' a whush,
And back gaed the pebbles wi' a whurr,
Whan the king's ae son cam' walking i' the hush,
To hear the sea murmur and murr.

The half mune was risin' the waves abune,
An' a glimmer o' cauld weet licht
Cam' ower the water straucht frae the mune,
Like a path across the nicht.

[Illustration]

What's that, an' that, far oot i' the grey
Atwixt the mune and the land?
It's the bonny sea-maidens at their play--
Haud awa', king's son, frae the strand.

Ae rock stud up wi' a shadow at its foot:
The king's son stepped behind:
The merry sea-maidens cam' gambolling oot,
Combin' their hair i' the wind.