re than one winter, and some of the winter days there,
she told them, might well pass for the days of a Scottish summer. What
she could not endure was the thought of going away alone.

"I had my Mary with me when I was there last, and I dread the thought of
the long days with no kenned face near me. Milne is growing old and
frail like myself, and I will need to spare her all I can. And now will
you let me have your Allison Bain for a while?"

"We can tell you nothing about her except what we have seen since she
came into our house," said Mrs Hume gravely. "It was a risk our taking
her as we did, but we were sorely in need of some one."

"But you are not sorry that you took her into your house?"

"Far from that! She has been a blessing in our house, as doubtless she
would be in yours should she go with you."

"There is no doubt but it would be to her advantage to go with you. And
we could not prevent her if she wished to go when her year with us is at
an end," said Mr Hume.

"Yes, it would be better for her to go. We ought not to hinder her,"
said his wife; but they looked at one another, thinking of Marjorie.

"I thank you both gratefully for your kindness in being willing to spare
her to me," said Mrs Esselmont. "But that is only the beginning of my
petition. The child Marjorie! Would it break your heart to part with
her for a while? Wait, let me say a word more before you refuse to hear
me. The child is evidently growing stronger as she grows older.
Allison has helped her, but there is more in the change than that. I am
certain--at least I have hope--that she might be helped by one who has
been proved to have skill in dealing with such cases. Let me take
Marjorie to Dr Thorne in London. He is a great physician and a good
man. He is my friend, and I know that whatever can be done for the
child he can do, and will be happy in doing it. Think of your gentle,
little darling grown strong and well, with a useful and happy life
before her!"

A rush of tears came to the eyes of Mrs Hume. The minister went to the
window and looked long on the swaying branches of the firs, which were
only just visible through the mist and the rain. Mrs Esselmont laid
herself back on her pillow and waited.

"Well?" said she after a little.

"Well, mother?" said the minister, sitting down again.

"Speak for us both," said his wife.

"Well," said he, after a pause, "I have only this to say to-night. We
thank you f