Matthew. "You're a God's send this
nicht. I'm glad to see you. Mysie's jist cam' back, an' she has fented.
Gie's a bit haun' wi' her to get her into bed. Puir thing. She's fair
done up," and Matthew tried to raise up the prostrate figure of his
bairn; but sank back too weak, and too overcome to do anything.

"Dinna you trouble yourself, Matthew," said Mrs. Sinclair, gathering the
prostrate girl in her arms and raising her up on her knee like a child.
"Bring some dry claes. Jenny, an' get some warm watter bottles in the
bed. Puir thing, she's in an awfu' state. She's a' tremblin' an' maun
hae been awfu' ill," and she worked with and stripped the wet clothes
from the girl and soon had her in bed, but in spite of all her efforts
Mysie remained unconscious. She then left to get the doctor summoned,
leaving the sorrowing parents to look after the girl till she returned.

When she did come back, Matthew was in bed and his condition very much
worse. The excitement had been too much for him in his weakened state
and he lay exhausted, crying like a child.

Soon the doctor came and did all in his power. At the end of an hour
Mysie's eyes opened and she looked about her.

"Where's my faither?" she asked weakly. "Oh, I'm gled I'm hame."

"He's in bed," answered Mrs. Sinclair. "An' you're no' to talk the
nicht, Mysie. Jist lie still, like a good lass, an' drink this, an' in
the mornin' you'll may be a bit better." And Mysie drank, and with a
sigh of happy contentment, she turned her face to the wall, glad she was
now at home--home with her wounded spirit and broken life.

The soft easy chaff bed gave her more of rest and satisfaction than if
it had been eiderdown. She traced as of old the roses upon the cheap
paper with which the box bed was papered, and which had been her
mother's pride when it was put on. Mysie watched the twining and
intertwining of the roses, as they reached upward toward the ceiling
through a maze of woodbine and red carnations, and noted that the
curtains upon the bed were the same as they were when she had last slept
there.

The old wag-at-the-wa' clock which had belonged to her grandfather,
wheezed wearily from the corner and the shrill eerie call of a courting
cat outside broke familiarly upon her ear. Thus surrounded by the sights
and sounds of old, a glad contentment in her heart, she soon dozed off
into a deep sleep.

When Mrs. Sinclair went home just as midnight was striking she found
Robert s