ntle mair nor that to please you."

And again the tears filled her blue eyes as she held out her
hand--receiving in it a shilling which Mr Cowie, for more relief to his
own burdened heart, had substituted for the sixpence.

"It's a shillin', sir!" she said, looking up at him with the coin lying
on her open palm.

"Weel, what for no? Is a shillin' no a saxpence?"

"Ay, sir. It's twa."

"Weel, Annie," said the old man, suddenly elevated into prophecy for
the child's need--for he had premeditated nothing of the sort--"maybe
whan God offers us a saxpence, it may turn oot to be twa. Good nicht,
my bairn."

But Mr Cowie was sorely dissatisfied with himself. For not only did he
perceive that the heart of the child could not be thus satisfied, but
he began to feel something new stirring in his own bosom. The fact was
that Annie was further on than Mr Cowie. She was a child looking about
to find the face of her Father in heaven: he was but one of God's
babies, who had been lying on his knees, receiving contentedly and
happily the good things he gave him, but never looking up to find the
eyes of him from whom the good gifts came. And now the heart of the old
man, touched by the motion of the child's heart--yearning after her
Father in heaven, and yet scarcely believing that he could be so good
as her father on earth--began to stir uneasily within him. And he went
down on his knees and hid his face in his hands.

But Annie, though not satisfied, went away comforted. After such a day
of agony and humiliation, Mr Cowie's kiss came gracious with
restoration and blessing. It had something in it which was not in Mr
Brown's sermon. And yet if she had gone to Mr Brown, she would have
found him kind too--very kind; but solemnly kind--severely kind; his
long saintly face beaming with religious tenderness--not human
cordiality; and his heart full of interest in her spiritual condition,
not sympathy with the unhappiness which his own teaching had produced;
nay, rather inclined to gloat over this unhappiness as the sign of
grace bestowed and an awakening conscience.

But notwithstanding the comfort Mr Cowie had given her--the best he
had, poor man!--Annie's distress soon awoke again. To know that she
could not be near God in peace and love without fulfilling certain
mental conditions--that he would not have her just as she was now,
filled her with an undefined but terribly real misery, only the more
distressing that it was vague wit