see him with my blind eyes from where I sat. I shouldna ken
him if I were to see him now. But what a difference he made to me!
Yes, I know; it wasna he, it was God's Holy Spirit; and yet I would like
to see him. I wonder will I ken him when we meet in heaven?"

Effie could not find her voice for a moment, and soon Christie went on:

"After that everything was changed. It seemed like coming out of the
mist to the top of the hill. Do you mind at home how even I could get a
glimpse of the sea and the far-away mountains, on a fair summer morning?
Nothing was so bad after that, and nothing will ever be so bad any
more. I don't think if even the old times were to come back I should
ever be such a vexation to you again, Effie."

"Would you like to go home with me, Christie?" said Effie. Christie
looked up eagerly.

"Yes; for some things very much, if you thought best. I am to go in the
summer, at any rate. Would you like me to go now, Effie?"

"It is not what I would like that we must think about. If I had had my
way, you would never have left home. Not that I am sorry for it now,
far from it; and though I would like to take you with me--indeed, I came
with no other thought--yet, as there is as good a reason for your
staying as there ever was for your coming, and far better, now that you
are contented, dear, I am not sure that I should be doing right to take
you away before summer. They would miss you here, Christie."

"Yes," said Christie, with a sigh, "I dare say they would. But I must
go home when summer comes, Effie. Why, it is more than a year and a
half since I have seen any of them but Annie and you."

"Yes," said Effie, thoughtfully. She was saying to herself that for
many reasons it was better for Christie to stay where she was, for a
time at least. She had kept the sunny side of their home life in
Christie's view since she had been there. But it had another side. She
saw very plainly that Christie was more comfortably situated in many
ways than she could possibly be at home, to say nothing of the loss of
the help she could give them, and the increase of expense which another
would make in their straitened household.

Yet there was something in Christie's voice that made her heart ache at
the sad necessity.

"I don't believe it will grieve you more to stay than it will grieve me
to go home without you," she said, at last. "I have been trying to
persuade myself ever since I came here that I