came in at
the door, and she said it many times as she went from one bed to
another. Before the day was over, she had for the time forgotten her
own care, in caring for the poor suffering creatures about her.

There were no "bad cases" in the room in which she had been placed.
There were some whose chief complaint was the aches and pains of age,
brought on before their time by hard labour and exposure; poor folk who
were taking a rest after a season of sharper suffering, and making ready
for another turn or two of hard work before the end should come.

"It is no' that I'm sae ill. I hae done mony a day's work with more
suffering on me than I have now. But oh! I'm weary, weary, I hae lost
heart, and it's time I was awa'," said one old woman who held Allison's
hand, and gazed at her with wistful eyes.

"What brings the like o' you here?" said another, "to such a place as
this. Ay, ay, ye look pitifu' and ye can lift a head and shake up a
pillow without gieing a body's neck a thraw. But I doubt it's just that
ye're new to it yet. Ye'll soon grow hardened to it like the lave (the
rest)."

"Whisht, woman," said her neighbour, "be thankful for sma' mercies. Ye
would be but ill off at hame."

"And be _ye_ thankfu' that ye are an auld wife and near done wi't," said
the neighbour on the other side. "As for mysel', I'm bowed with
rheumatics, and me no' fifty yet. I may live many years, says the
doctor, and what's to 'come o' me, the Lord alone kens."

"But," said Allison, speaking very softly, "_He does_ ken. Dinna you
mind, `Even to your old age I am He, and even to hoar hairs will I carry
you.'"

"Ay, but ye see, I'm no' sae sure that He's with me now, or that He has
ever been with me. That mak's an awfu' differ."

"But He is willing to come,--waiting to be asked."

"It may be; I dinna ken," said the woman gravely.

They looked at Allison with a little surprise. She was surprised
herself. She had no thought of speaking until the words were uttered.
She was only conscious of being very sorry for them, and of longing to
help them. But she had spoken many a word of comfort among them before
her work there was done.

A little child with a face like a snowdrop came and looked up at her,
touching her hand. Allison took her up in her arms, and carried her
with her as she went on.

"Dinna be troublesome, Nannie," said a voice from a distant bed.

"Come and see my mother," said the child.

Her mother w