ckness. She had not grown much,
and was rather under than over the ordinary height; but her shape
produced the impression of tallness, and suggested no probability of
further growth. When first Thomas Crann saw her after her illness, he
held her at arm's length, and gazed at her.

"Eh, lassie!" he said, "ye're grown a wumman! Ye'll hae the bigger hert
to love the Lord wi'. I thocht he wad hae ta'en ye awa' a bairn, afore
ever we had seen what ye wad turn oot; and sair wad I hae missed ye,
bairn! And a' the sairer that I hae lost auld Tibbie. A man canna do
weel withoot some woman or ither to tell him the trowth. I wiss sair
that I hadna been sae cankert wi' her, whiles."

"I never heard her say that ye was ever cankert, Thomas."

"No, I daursay no. She wadna say't. She wadna say't. She was a
kin'-herted auld body."

"But she didna like to be ca'd auld," interposed Annie, with a smile
half in sad reminiscence of her friend's peculiarities, half in gentle
humour, seeking to turn the conversation, and so divert Thomas from
further self-accusation.

"Aweel, she's nae that auld noo!" he answered with a responsive smile.
"Eh, lassie! it maun be a fine thing to hae the wisdom o' age alang wi'
the licht hert and the strang banes o' yowth. I'm growin' some auld
mysel. I was ance prood o' that airm"--and it was a brawny right arm he
stretched out--"and there was no man within ten mile o' Glamerton 'at
cud lift what I cud lift whan I was five-and-twenty. I daursay that
luiks gey auld to you, no?--But ony lad i' the mason-trade micht ding
me at liftin' noo; for I'm stiff i' the back, and my airm's jist
reid-het whiles wi' the rheumateeze; and gin I lift onything by
ordinar', it gars me host like a cat wi' the backbane o' a herrin' in
her thrapple.--Ye'll be gaun back to Robert Bruce or lang, I'm
thinkin'."

"I dinna ken. The mistress has said naething aboot it yet. And I'm in
nae hurry, I can tell ye, Thomas."

"Weel, I daursay no. Ye maun tak a heap o' care, lass, that the plenty
and content ye're livin' in doesna spring up and choke the word."

"Ay, Thomas," answered Annie with a smile; "it's a fine thing to hae
reamy milk to yer parritch, in place o' sky-blue to meal and water."

What could ail the lassie? She had never spoken lightly about anything
before. Was she too, like his old friend Alec, forgetting the splendour
of her high calling?

Such was the thought that passed through Thomas's mind; but the truth
was t