pressed hers so warmly as she
spoke.

"But where are you going, Christie?" asked John.

"Oh, I forgot; we are past the place." But her face grew grave in a
moment. "When did you come, John? and how long are you going to stay?"

"I came yesterday, and I shall stay no longer than I can help. I have
had enough of this dusty town for once. I wonder how you ever stayed so
long in it, Christie."

"I wonder myself, whiles," she said gravely; "but it won't be long now."

"Are they better at your house? Will they spare you to go home with
me?"

"There is no one ill now. Did you hear--" But Christie's voice was lost
in the remembrance of little Harry and the baby.

"Yes, we heard. You must have had a sad time, poor lassie! But the
remembrance of these precious little ones cannot be altogether
sorrowful, Christie?"

"No; oh, no, indeed!" But she could say no more. As they drew near the
house, she added:

"And shan't I see you again, John?"

"Ay, lass, that you will. I'm by no means done with you yet. Are you
busy to-day? because I would like your help. I promised to get some
things for my mother, and I'm not good at choosing. Will you come with
me? Do you think you can be spared?"

"I don't know. I should like it. I can ask."

In a minute she returned, with a face made radiant by Mrs Lee's
cheerful consent to spare her for as much of the day as she pleased; and
it was arranged that John should call for her in half an hour.

If anything could have marred the delight with which her preparations
were made, the sight of her faded bonnet and shawl might have done so.
The rain and the snow had wet them, the sun had done its work on them,
and the wind had taken liberties with them, many a time. And besides,
they seemed too hot and heavy for such a summer day, even if they had
not been shabby and grey. For Christie had had other things to think
about of late than the getting of summer garments. Just for a minute a
wish that they had been newer and fresher-looking, for John's sake, came
to her mind. It was only for a moment that she thought about it at all.

"For John cares little for such things," she said to herself; "and
there's no matter for the shop-people and the rest."

She was right. Looking into the brightened face that met him at the
door, John failed to discover that the bonnet above it was dingy and
brown. And if the rustiness of the little shepherd's-plaid shawl that
covered her should