crossed the street to her door. The lamp was lighted, and a
small, bright fire burned on the hearth, and one of the chairs had been
taken down from the high dresser for the expected visitor.

"Sit ye doon, Allison," said the schoolmistress. "I saw ye when ye gaed
into Mistress Beaton's, and I waited for you, but I winna keep ye lang.
And ye're going farawa'? Are ye glad to go? And are ye ever comin'
back again?"

"I must come back with Marjorie. Whatever happens, I must bring home
the child to her father and her mother," said Allison, gravely.

"Ay, ye must do that, as ye say, whatever should happen. And may
naething but gude befall ye. I'll miss ye sairly; ye hae been a great
divert to me, you and the minister's bairn thegither--especially since
the cloud lifted, and ither things happened, and ye began to tak' heart
again. Do ye mind the `Stanin Stanes' yon day, and a' the bairns, and
John Beaton wi his baps? Oh! ay. I'll miss ye mair than ye ken."

The old woman sat for a time looking in silence at Allison, then she
said:

"Eh! woman! It's weel to be the like o' you! Ye're young, and ye're
strong, and ye're bonny; and ye hae sense and discretion, and folk like
ye. It's nae ance in a thousand times that a' these things come to a
woman thegither. Ye mind me o' mysel' when I was young. I had a' that
ye hae, except the sense and discretion. But that's neither here nor
there, at this late day," added she, rising.

Allison sat watching her as she took a key from its hiding-place and
opening the big chest in the corner, searched in it for a while. When
the old woman raised herself up and turned toward Allison again, there
lay on the palm of her hand a gold ring. It was large and massive, and
had evidently been rubbed and polished lately, for it shone bright in
the light as she held it up to the lamp.

"Look ye at it," said the mistress. "Until this day I have never, for
forty years and mair, set e'en upon it. I hae been twice marriet--
though folk here ken naething about that--and this was my first marriage
ring. It was my mother's before me, and her mother's before her. It
held a charm, they said, to bring happy days, but it brought none to
me--he died within the year. The charm was broken, maybe, because I was
a wilfu' lassie--an undutifu' daughter. But it may work again wi' you.
Take it, and put it on your finger."

But Allison refused it, and put her hands behind her.

"And what for no'