surprise.

"I know it now, Cousin Shenac," said Allister's sister; and in a moment
Allister's arms were round them both. It was Angus Dhu's turn to be
surprised now. He had not been so startled since the day that Shenac
Bhan told him her mind down by the creek. The girls escaped, and
Allister explained how matters stood. The old man was pleased, but he
grumbled a little, too, at the thought of losing his last daughter.

"You must make an exchange, Allister, my man. If you could give us your
Shenac--"

Allister laughed. In his heart he thought his sister too good to be
sent there, and he was very glad he had not the matter to decide.

"Shenac, my woman," said the old man as they were going away, "I wonder
at you being so willing to give up the fine new house. I think it is
very good in you."

"I would not--to anybody else," said she, laughing.

"But she's not going to give it up, father," said Shenac Dhu eagerly.

"Well, well, maybe not, if you can keep her."

Shenac still pondered over the question of what would be best for them
all, and wearied herself with it many a time; but she gave none the less
interest to the progress of the house and its belongings. She spun the
wool for the carpet, and bleached the new linen to snowy whiteness, and
made all other preparations just the same as if she were to have the
guiding and governing of the household. She was glad with Allister and
glad with Shenac, and, for herself and the rest, quite content to wait
and see what time would bring to pass.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

But a day came when Shenac saw how needless all her anxious thoughts
about her mother's future had been, when she acknowledged, with tears of
mingled sorrow and joy, that she had tenderer care and safer keeping
than son or daughter could give.

All through the long harvest-days the mother failed slowly--so slowly
that even the watchful eyes of Shenac did not see how surely. Then, as
the autumn wore away, and the increasing cold no longer permitted the
daily sitting in the sunshine, the change became more rapid. Then there
was a time of sharper suffering. The long days and nights lingered out
into weeks, and then all suffering was over--the tired heart ceased to
struggle with the burden of life, and the widow was laid to rest beside
her husband and son.

That this was a time of great sorrow in the household need not be told.
Neighbours came from far and near with offers of help and sympathy