auntie?"

"Naething. Nae for you, ony gait, lassie."

"Weel, ye see, I'm come ohn luikit for. But ye was luikin' for
somebody, auntie."

"Na. I was only jist luikin'."

Even Annie did not then know that it was the soul's hunger, the vague
sense of a need which nothing but the God of human faces, the God of
the morning and of the starful night, the God of love and
self-forgetfulness, can satisfy, that sent her money-loving,
poverty-stricken, pining, grumbling old aunt out staring towards the
east. It is this formless idea of something at hand that keeps men and
women striving to tear from the bosom of the world the secret of their
own hopes. How little they know what they look for in reality is their
God! This is that for which their heart and their flesh cry out.

Lead, lead me on, my Hopes. I know that ye are true and not vain.
Vanish from my eyes day after day, but arise in new forms. I will
follow your holy deception;--follow till ye have brought me to the feet
of my Father in Heaven, where I shall find you all with folded wings
spangling the sapphire dusk whereon stands His throne, which is our
home.

"What do ye want sae ear's this, Annie Anderson?"

Margaret's first thought was always--"What can the body be wantin'?"

"I want ye to tak' me in for a while," answered Annie.

"For an hoor or twa? Ow ay."

"Na. For a week or twa maybe."

"'Deed no. I'll do naething o' the kin', Lat them 'at made ye prood,
keep ye prood."

"I'm nae prood, auntie. What gars ye say that?"

"Sae prood 'at ye wadna tak' a gude offer whan it was i' yer pooer. And
syne they turn ye oot whan it shuits themsels. Gentle fowks is sair
misca'd (misnamed). I'm no gaein' to tak' ye in. There's Dawvid Gordon
wants a lass. Ye can jist gang till a place like ither fowk."

"I'll gang and luik efter 't direckly. Hoo far is't, Auntie?"

"Gaein' and giein' awa' yer siller to beggars as gin 't war stew
(dust), jist to be a gran' lady! Ye're nane sae gran', _I_ can tell ye.
An' syne comin' to puir fowk like me to tak' ye in for a week or twa!
Weel I wat!"

Auntie had been listening to evil tongues--so much easier to listen to
than just tongues. With difficulty Annie kept back her tears. She made
no defence; tried to eat the porridge which her aunt set before her;
and departed. Before three hours were over, she had the charge of the
dairy and cooking at Willowcraig for the next six months of coming
winter and spring. Protected from suspi