of. Either she was murmuring over
her grievances, or pitying herself for them, or she was dreaming vain
dreams of a future that should have nothing to vex or annoy. Her life's
work was worth little, indeed, judging it by Effie's standard. She did
all that she did, merely because she could not help it. As to
forgetting herself and thinking of others--

But who did so? No one that she knew, unless, perhaps, Effie herself.
And Effie had a great many things to make her life pleasant, she
thought. Perhaps her father? But then, her father did what he did for
his children. All fathers did the same, she supposed. No; she doubted
whether any one came near Effie's idea of what life should be. It would
be a very different world indeed if all did so.

They were quite close to the house before Christie got thus far; and a
glimpse of her father's careworn face filled her with something like
self-reproach.

"I wish I could do him some good! But what can I do? He has never been
the same since mother died. Nobody has been the same since that--except
Effie; and she is better and kinder every day. Oh, I wish I could be
like her! but it's of no use wishing;--I can never be like her. Oh, how
tired I am!"

She started at the sound of Aunt Elsie's voice asking, rather sharply,
what had kept them so long. She turned away, impatient of the question,
and impatient of the cheerful answer with which Effie sought to turn
aside her aunt's displeasure. She was impatient of Annie's regrets that
their long delay had spoiled their supper, and of Sarah's questions as
to who had been at the kirk, and answered them both shortly. She was
impatient of the suppressed noise of the little ones, and vexed at her
own impatience more than all.

"I dinna think your going to the kirk has done you much good. What ails
you, Christie? One would think you had the sins of a nation to answer
for, by your face."

"Whisht, Annie," interposed Effie. "Christie's tired, and her head
aches, I'm sure. Dinna vex her--poor thing!"

"Well, if she would only say that, and no' look so glum!" said Annie,
laughing, as she set aside the bowl of milk intended for Christie's
supper. In a moment she returned with a cup of tea, and placed it where
the bowl had stood. "There!" she said; "that will do your head good,
and your temper too, I hope. I'm sure you look as though you needed
it."

Christie would fain have resented both her sister's kindness and her