“There’s no use going so soon,” said David, “for they’ll not be getting this far for half an hour yet. I’ll bide here with you awhile Jean.” He settled himself imperturbably. “I’ll not interfere with your work,” he went on, “and ye can give me a word once in a while, lass. I’d as soon treat me eyes to a look of ye as me ears to the sound of your voice,” which rather doubtful compliment Jeanie was not disposed to take amiss, knowing that David wanted nothing better than to sit and look at her. Meanwhile Agnes had run tumultuously along the path leading to the river road, and at last, out of breath, was obliged to settle down to a walk. Her heart was all aflame with the thought of seeing her mother, and once or twice she fairly sobbed out her delight. Reared though she had been among the self-contained Scots, her later association with the demonstrative Polly had encouraged the free outlet of her youthful feelings. When at last the slow ox-team hove in sight, she again quickened her pace and went flying to meet it, crying, “Mother! mother! mother!” The deliberate oxen came to a halt, and Dod Hunter rested his goad upon the ground as the flying figure approached. “It’s my lass! I’ll be getting down. It’s my lass,” said Mrs. Kennedy, her voice all of a tremble. And by the time Agnes had reached the team her mother stood by the side of the road. Then in another minute the dear arms were around her, and she heard, in a broken whisper: “My lass, my bairnie! Praise God I hold you at last! It has been a weary time, a weary time.” Then came shrill little voices from the cart and the scrambling of feet over its side, and Agnes was clasped on one side by Sandy and on the other by Jock and Jessie. “Ah, Sandy, I’d know your blessed freckled face anywhere,” the girl cried, giving him a frantic hug. “And Jock, my lad, how you’ve grown, and Jessie, too. Bless her dear blue eyes; she’s shy of me, poor child, and no wonder when she hasn’t seen me for so long. But where is Margret?” “There, don’t you see? She’s holding the baby,” Jock informed her. “My little brother Fergus, and I’ve never seen him. Ah, I must get to him and to Margret. She’s the same faithful bairnie she ever was,” and Agnes climbed into the cart to look for the first time upon the solemn little face of her two-year-old baby brother. And then what a chatter there was! Between answering and asking questions Agnes hardly paused, and after a while Dod Hunter, plodding along by the side of his oxen, looked back with a sly twinkle in his eye. Agnes laughed. “I know you think me a great chatterbox, Uncle Dod; but I’ve not seen them for two long years, and my heart fairly seems ready to fly out of my body, and as that doesn’t happen, it is the talk that will fly out of my mouth.” “I wonder ye’ve the breath left,” said the old man, “if ye kept up the pace from M’Clean’s that ye brought up here with.”