l
the last shred of strength had gone, and the limbs stiffened out, while
the glazing eyes looked forward as the pain increased, across the
barriers of other worlds to a land of plenty--a land of green shrubs,
and sweet waters bubbling from scented hillsides, overhung with blue
skies which never brewed storms. A land of bud and bloom and blossom,
scented and sweet, with every desirable weed and tasty herb--a land of
life full and beautiful, of warm suns, calling up dreams from a
blossoming mist of bluebells, creating the freshness and the happiness
of youthfulness in every living thing. A land where far vistas and wide
horizons, bounded by green hills, brought visions from the inner self,
with joyous abundance through lusty life, and glorious passionate
being--a land sweet and fruitful, and never-ending in its beauty and its
means of happiness!

Slowly the days passed, and her strength gradually increased little by
little, until a month had gone past, and she was able to be about the
house again; but this determination in her heart to go home grew
stronger with every day that passed, and it seemed to give her strength
and vitality, and her hope became more definite and more sure.

She pictured her home again, as she had known it; the little kitchen,
with its white scrubbed floor and a few newspapers spread over its newly
washed surface to keep it clean from muddy feet; the white-washed jambs
of the fireside, and the grate polished with blacklead; the clear-topped
fender, with its inscription done in brass in the center, "Oor ain
fireside"; the half-dozen strong sturdy, well-washed chairs; the
whitewood dresser, with its array of dog ornaments and cheap vases, and
white crocheted cover; and the curtains over the two beds in the
kitchen. All these things she loved to think about, and she saw them
pictured in her mind as real as they'd ever been to her when her own
life was centered in them, and her fancy took delight in these secret
joys. It was her home she saw always, the humble "but and ben" with the
primitive conditions of life, the crude amenities, the sweet joys of
simple unaffected people; but it was her home.

One day, Mrs. Ramsay had gone out on an errand that detained her some
time, Mysie seized suddenly again in a more intense form by her desire
to go home, feverishly dressed herself, and hastily scribbling a note of
thanks to her good friend and nurse, she stole out on to the street, a
poor, forlorn, weak g