“Miranda used at first to be a little afraid of Harold’s father; but that feeling has long since passed away, and she looks upon him with the deepest reverence, something, I fancy, resembling that with which the Panjabis regard their gurus (religious teachers). She would, I am certain, think it a privilege to wash his feet. Our father’s health is now so much broken that he cannot itinerate at all, and we often fear that his day is drawing near to its close. But what a calm, peaceful, glorious sunset is his! I always think of him when I look at the picture which hangs on our wall, representing a weary reaper falling asleep with his head resting on one of the golden sheaves around him. The rich warm light is falling on his face, so full of peaceful repose. Death to our father will be but sinking to sleep. ‘Oh, how calm will that rest appear! Oh, how sweet will the waking be!’ But I do not like to anticipate losing one so dear, so I will turn to another subject. “I have often told you of Robin, the brother of my loved Harold, and his unfailing fund of good-humour and fun. During the last few months Robin has greatly altered: he is no longer the merry, boyish youth, but seems, almost suddenly, to have developed into the thoughtful man. Perhaps this comes of his having become a now well-known author, whose brain must be ever at work, as well as an evangelist, teacher, and general aid in the mission. My brother often sits dreamily, and scarcely hears a question when it is put to him; sometimes the colour suddenly flushes his cheek without any visible cause. Perhaps Robin overworks; sometimes I fancy—Oh, what a blot! Mischievous baby has upset my ink. I shall have to punish the little rogue by—putting down my pen and having a romp.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXII YOKED TWAIN AND TWAIN. ABOUT an hour afterwards, when baby had been made over to his grandfather’s care, to give his mother leisure to prepare for her wedding-day feast, Robin came in from village preaching. He had a very preoccupied look, as if he were looking either far back into the past or far forward into the future, and had no eyes for anything near him. “What are you dreaming of, Robin?” exclaimed Alicia gaily. “You must not put your bag of books on the top of my dough.” “I beg pardon,” said Robin in an absent manner, and he took a seat beside his sister. Alicia went on with her kneading, and rather wondered that Robin, usually so obliging, made no offer to help her. “Are you composing a poem in honour of the day?” asked Alicia; “or is marriage, after three years, too prosaic a subject?” “It may be a life-long poem,” replied Robin.