king at the people whom they met,
and at the pretty things in the shop windows, and had been enjoying it
all so much that, for a while, she had never doubted that Allison was
enjoying it also. But Allison was looking away to the sea, and her face
was very grave, and there was a look in her eyes that Marjorie had not
seen in them for a long time now. The look changed as the child
repeated the question:

"Allie, you are surely glad to be going home?"

"I am very glad to be bringing my darling home strong and well to her
father and mother and them all. They will be more than glad to see us
again."

"And, Allie dear, it is your home too, till Mrs Esselmont wants you
again. And you will try to be happy there? And you will not be ay
wishing to win away to your brother in America--at least for a while?"

"No, not for a while. But I must go when he sends word that he needs
me. That may be sooner than we ken. When he gets his own land, and has
his house built, then I will go. But I am in no hurry," said Allison,
after a pause. "And now let us go and take a look at the sea. It is
too early yet to see Dr Fleming."

"But it is not the same sea that we have been looking at so long--the
sea that has helped to make me strong and well."

"It is a grand sea, however, and it is our own. And to-day it is as
bonny, and smooth, and blue, as ever the Southern Sea was, and the same
sun is shining upon it. And we must make haste, for we have no time to
lose."

They did not go at once, however. As they turned into the next street,
a hand was laid on Allison's arm, and looking up she met the eyes of one
whom she had not seen for many a day. She had last seen him looking
sorrowfully down on the face of her dying father.

"Mr Rainy!" cried she, faintly, thinking of that day.

"Eh! woman, but I am glad to see you after all this time. Where have
you been since that sorrowful day? I was just thinking about you as I
came down the street. I must believe in a special Providence after
this. I was just saying to myself that I would give a five-pound note,
and maybe twa, if I could but put my hand on Allison Bain. And lo! here
ye are. And, Allison, my woman, if your father could speak to you, he
would say, `Put yourself into my old friend's hand, and be advised and
guided by him, and ye'll never have cause to repent it.' And now I say
it for him."

Allison shook her head.

"I cannot do that--blindly. I need neither the