“I promise, mother; I promise never to leave him.” “Weel does he deserve a’ you can dae for him; he’s puir, he’s hamely in looks, he’s no sae quick in thocht or speech as mony; but he is what mony great an’ rich an’ smairt men are not--an honest man, wha strives in a quiet way to do his duty by his fellowman an’ his Maker.” “What makes you speak so, mother? I am sure I never gave you cause to think I’d leave the family.” “Your brothers will gang their ain gate by-and-by an’ their wives micht na want to hae the auld man at their ingle; only o’ you may I ask that whither you go he shall go an’ drink o’ your cup an’ eat o’ your bread. Dinna marry ony man unless sure he will be kind to your faither an’ let you do a dochter’s duty by him.” “I hav’na met ony man, mother, that will hae me, except auld Milne.” “Dinna mak fun o’ me, Maggie; you ken what I mean. The lad Morton will come some day--.” “Wheesht, mother: he’s nothing to me.” “I ken different: you loe him deep an’ true an’ he loes you. Whether he will pit pride o’ family an’ station aside to ask you to be his wife some wad doot, but I div’na. He’ll be back, an’ when he does dinna forget what I have said.” The heavy step of the father was here heard outside; the door opened and he came in. Drawing a chair beside his wife he sat down, and, without uttering a word, surveyed her wasted and furrowed face with tender gaze. She returned his affectionate look and placed her hand in his. As she looked at them, sitting in the afternoon sunshine with clasped hands, and that radiant expression of mutual love, Maggie’s heart, already full, was like to burst. She hastened out and falling beneath a tree wept bitterly. * * * * *