The noises outside; the glare of the street,
lamps, the tier upon tier of houses, piled on top of each other, as she
looked from the window at the tall buildings, and the Castle Rock, grim
and gray, looking down in silence upon the whole city, but added to
Mysie's confusion of mind.

Shouts from a drunken brawl ascended from the street; the curses of the
men, and the screams of women, were plainly audible; while over all a
woman's voice, further down the street, broke into a bonnie old Scots
air which Mysie knew, and she could not help feeling that this was the
most beautiful thing she had heard so far.

The voice was clear, and to Mysie very sweet, but it was the words that
set her heart awandering among her own moors and heather hills.

Ca' the yowes tae the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My kind dearie, O!

This was always the song her father sang, if on a Saturday night he had
been taking a glass. It was not that he was given to drinking; but
sometimes, on the pay night, he would indulge in a glass with Andrew
Marshall or Peter Pegg--just a round each; sufficient to make them happy
and forgetful of their hard lot for a time. She had seen her father
drunk on very few occasions, as he was a very careful man; but
sometimes, maybe at New Year's time, if things were going more than
usually well, he might, in company with his two cronies, indulge in an
extra glass, and then he was seen at his best.

On such occasions Mysie's mother would remonstrate with him, reminding
him with wifely wisdom of his family responsibilities; but under all her
admonishings Matthew's only reply was:

As I gaed doon the water side,
There I met my bonnie lad,
An' he rowed me sweetly in his plaid,
An' ca'd me his dearie, O!

and as he sang, he would fling his arms around Mysie's mother and turn
her round upon the floor, in an awkward dance, to the tune of the song,
and finally stopping her flow of words with a hug and a kiss, as he
repeated the chorus:

Ca' the yowes tae the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows,
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My kind dearie, O!

So that, when the words of the old song floated up through the noise of
the street, Mysie's heart filled, and her eyes brimmed with tears; for
she saw again the old home, and all it meant to her.

"There now," said Mrs. Ramsay, noticing her tears, and stroking her hair
with a ki