My wife and I drove round by Roslin to-day, called at The Moat, and after having tea with my old friend Mrs Pendriegh, whose soda-scones are almost as good as Betty's, we returned 'in the hush of the corn' to Blackford Hall, _viâ_ Woodfield and Fairmilehead. This is all strange, unfamiliar country to Désirée. To-day she saw it for the first time and under the most favourable auspices, and already I know, from her looks and words of appreciation, that it has made its appeal. She thinks, with me, that it very much resembles my own homeland scenery, from its undulating fields and bosky woods to its velvety grass-grown hills, so sleek and rounded, she said, that she wanted to clap them. As we drove homeward, quiet thoughts of Thornhill came to us, and we wondered what Betty would be doing, and how she was getting on. For a month she had been with us, our first guest, and the most honoured and most welcome we shall ever have under our roof. Two days ago she returned to what she calls her 'ain auld hoose,' and when Désirée and I saw her off at the station she told us in a shaky voice that 'mebbe she wad be back in the spring, when she had the hoose seen to an' the gairden delved.' We miss her cheery, motherly presence in the house; and, though it was looking far ahead, we planned a future for Betty as we drove along. When we reached Blackford Hall I found more than a kenspeckle countryside to remind me of homeland. In the hall was a carpet-bag which I recognised as a Hebron heirloom I had often seen in Nathan's back-room. Two large pictures, indifferently packed and tied round with rope-line, were placed against the hat-rack. One, from the corner of the frame which was uncovered, I knew to be the oil-painting of my father and mother; and the other, from the new brilliancy of the gold, I recognised as Désirée's painting of Nith Bridge. Nathan's old hazel walking-stick, which daily he carried to his work, was lying along the top of the carpet-bag, tied securely to the leather handles. 'Désirée, my dear,' I said, with a happy flutter in my heart, 'I do believe Betty's come back.' She looked at me with a wondering smile on her face, as much as to say, 'Too good to be true;' and, acting on a common impulse, we rushed upstairs like expectant bairns. There, in the little room facing southward, which we already called Betty's room, on a low chair before an empty fireplace, sat the dear old soul with her chin on her breast and fast asleep. Her bonnet-strings were loosened and lay over her shoulder, and her hands were tucked underneath a Paisley shawl, which was folded across her knees. We tiptoed in and stood quietly beside her, Désirée on her right and I on her left. Slowly she opened two wondering eyes, and with a bewildered gaze she looked around her. It was Désirée's hand she grasped. 'Oh, weans,' she said, 'I'm awfu' sorry to bother ye; but I'm back! I juist couldna stey away, an' ye maunna be angry wi' me for'----