ning breeze. The tinkling fall of the cold
spring in yonder bank falls soothingly on the ear. Who comes from
that low-roofed log cabin to bring in the pitcher of water, that pale,
careworn, shadowy figure that slowly moves along the green pasture, as
one without hope or joy; her black hair is shared with silver, her cheek
is pale as wax, and her hand is so thin, it looks as though the
light might be seen through if she held it towards the sun? It is the
heart-broken mother of Catharine and Hector Maxwell. Her heart has been
pierced with many sorrows; she cannot yet forget the children of her
love, her first-born girl and boy. Who comes to meet her, and with
cheerful voice chides her for the tear that seems ever to be lingering
on that pale cheek,--yet the premature furrows on that broad, sunburnt,
manly brow speak, too, of inward care? It is the father of Hector and
Catharine. Those two fine, healthy boys, in homespun blouses, that are
talking so earnestly, as they lean across the rail fence of the little
wheat field, are Kenneth and Donald; their sickles are on their arms;
they have been reaping. They hear the sudden barking of Bruce and
Wallace, the hounds, and turn to see what causes the agitation they
display.

An old man draws near; he has a knapsack on his shoulders, which he
casts down on the corner of the stoup; he is singing a line of an old
French ditty; he raps at the open door. The Highlander bids him welcome,
but starts with glad surprise as his hand is grasped by the old trapper.
"Ha, Jacob Morelle, it is many a weary year since your step turned this
way." The tear stood in the eye of the soldier as he spoke.

"How is ma chere mere, and the young ones?" asked the old man, in a
husky voice--his kind heart was full. "Can you receive me, and those I
have with me, for the night? A spare corner, a shake-down, will do; we
travellers in the bush are no wise nice."

"The best we have, and kindly welcome; it is gude for saer een to see
you, Jacob. How many are ye in all?"

"There are just four, beside myself,--young people; I found them where
they had been long living, on a lonely lake, and I persuaded them to
come with me."

The strong features of the Highlander worked convulsively, as he drew
his faded blue bonnet over his eyes. "Jacob, did ye ken that we lost
our eldest bairns, some three summers since?" he faltered, in a broken
voice.

"The Lord, in his mercy, has restored them to you, Donald, by my hand