an extensive view of
Bristol in one direction, and of the village of Langholm and the woods
of Leigh on the other.

Bishop's Farm was on the high ground of the Mendips, not a mile distant
from the church of Dundry, whose tower is a landmark of this district,
and is seen as a beacon to the country-side for many miles.

'Yes, here I am. Bryda, what is the matter?'

Betty was seated on a bit of rock, anxiously looking down on a lamb
which the shepherd had brought from the fold, as it seemed, to die.

'It's just dying, that's what it. It's no use making a to-do Miss Betty.
Lor'! the master can afford to lose one lamb, and it's no fault of
mine.'

'It should have been brought in last evening, Silas. I'll carry it in
myself, poor dear little thing.'

'Better not, better not; let it die in peace, miss. No mortal power can
save it now. The mother is all but dying, too, and if I save her it's as
much as I can do. There, I told you so. It's gone, poor dumb thing.'

For the lamb give one little feeble moan rather than a bleat, drew its
thick legs together convulsively, and then lay still.

'Dead! Oh, take it away, Silas,' Bryda exclaimed; 'I cannot bear to see
anything dead. Come away, Betty,' she entreated.

'There, there, Miss Biddy, don't take on. I'll carry it off, and don't
trouble your heads no more about it. We've all got to die, and the lamb
is no worse off than we. Can't say but I am sorry though,' Silas said,
in a softer tone, as he picked up the dead lamb. 'I'd sooner see it
frisking about in the meadow yonder than lying so cold and quiet.'

And then Silas, in his smock frock and wide hat, strode away over gorse
and heather, and left the sisters alone.

Of these sisters Betty was the younger of the two by one year, but
older in many ways--older in her careful thought for others, in her
unselfish life, in her patience and tender forbearance with her somewhat
irascible old grandfather.

Bryda and Betty had lived with their grandfather at Bishop's Farm ever
since they could remember anything.

Their aunt, their father's sister by the farmer's first marriage, a
widow, took the charge of the house after her husband's death, when she
had come to her old home at her father's bidding rather than at his
invitation.

He had been angry with her for marrying a sailor, had prophesied from
the first that no good could come of it, and he was more triumphant than
sorry that his prophecy had proved true.

There are so