stood for a moment silent, and both mother and son regarded her
with interest and with surprise as well.

This was quite a different Allison, Mrs Beaton thought, from the one
who went up and down the street, heeding no one, seeing nothing unless
the child Marjorie was in her arms to call her attention to whatever
there might be to see. She seemed eager and anxious, full of
determination and energy. She had not at all the air of one who had
been accustomed to go and come at the bidding of other folk.

"It is the true Allison at last," said John to himself.

"Her gown has something to do with it," thought Mrs Beaton, and perhaps
it had. Her gown was black, and hung in straight folds about her. A
soft, white kerchief showed above the edge of it around her throat, and
her Sunday cap, less voluminous and of lighter material than those which
she wore about her work, let her shining hair be seen.

"A strong and beautiful woman," John said to himself. His mother was
saying it also; but with a better knowledge of a woman's nature, and a
misgiving that some great trouble had brought her there, she added:

"May God help her, whatever it may be. Allison, sit down," she said
after waiting a minute for her to speak.

"It is that my heart is beating so fast that I seem to be in a tremble,"
said Allison, clasping her hands on her side.

"Sit down, my dear," said Mrs Beaton kindly. "Not yet. It is only a
few words that I must say, I have had great trouble in my life. I have
trouble yet--that must be met. And it came into my mind when I was
sitting in the kirk that you might maybe help me, and--keep my heart
from breaking altogether," said she; then lifting her eyes to John's
face she asked, "Have ye ever been in the tollbooth at Aberdeen? It is
there my Willie is, whom I would fain save."

John's mother felt the start her son gave at the words. Even she
uttered a word of dismay.

"I must tell you more," said Allison eagerly. "Yes, he did wrong. But
he had great provocation. He struck a man down. At first they thought
the man might die. But he didna die. My mother died, and my father,
but this man lived. Willie was tried for what he had done, and though
all in the countryside were ready to declare that Brownrig had gotten
only what he well deserved, they sentenced the lad to a long year and a
half in the tollbooth, and there he has been all this time. A long time
it has been to me, and it has been longer to