well enough the terrible degradation an honest, respectable
Scottish woman would feel it that any of her birth and kin should fall
upon the charity of strangers.

Elsie had been ever a tiresome child. She was what people call
clever--that is to say, she had from an early age the power of thinking
for herself, and forming her own ideas on many subjects. This very
activity of brain often overwhelmed the better feelings of her heart,
which was not really bad. It was her own supposed cleverness that had
led her into such a grievous error concerning that unfortunate letter
she had found, her restless curiosity that had led her into the
temptation of reading it, whereas Duncan's slower brain would have
allowed his heart time to speak its protest against an action that he
had been trained to regard as mean and dishonourable. Cleverness is a
dangerous gift, apt to lead into very stray paths, unless there is firm
principle to weigh it. Lucy Murdoch was extremely clever. Better for her
to have been without one talent than to have used all ten to her own
utter ruin.

Mrs. MacDougall gave Elsie no bitter reproaches. She explained to her
how grievous a sin she had committed, and what sorrow she had brought on
those who had always shown her the truest kindness. She would allow no
one to speak to Elsie about it, except the good old minister at the
manse, who had known her from her birth. Farmer Jarrett greatly desired
to give her a good talking to, but Mrs. MacDougall said, in her true
Scottish fashion, "Nay, neighbour; the Lord had pointed His own moral,
an' we can no better it. She has the little brother she loves always
before her eyes to warn her." And this was true enough. Duncan had never
recovered the effects of the fever. He seemed to have lost all his old
robustness and vigour, taking little interest in anything, only caring
to sit quiet and undisturbed before the fire. No words could have
affected her more than that most pitiful sight. Mrs. MacDougall often
caught Elsie's eyes fixed on the child with a wistful, sorrowful
expression. She and Robbie waited on him continually, with patient
unfailing tenderness, and both the children vied with each other as to
who could be the more kind and thoughtful for him.

Mrs. MacDougall from that time changed her treatment of Robbie, and
moreover, explained to all three children the circumstances of his
birth. She believed that she had erred in practising even this
well-meant deceit,