“I was just telling our weans,” repeated Mrs. Rodger, “that the wee boy would be just another creature after a while in the country; and cheeks like roses you’ve gotten yoursel, Mrs. Muir. It would be unco’ dull though, I’m thinking--if it had only been the saut water--but its no the season for the saut water. I mind when Archie was living--that’s their father--we gaed down regular to Dundoon, and it was just a pleasure to see the weans when they came hame.” “Agnes, Martha says the tea’s ready,” said Violet, “and I’m to carry little Harry ben.” The tea-table in the parlour was pleasantly covered, and still more pleasantly surrounded, and Agnes’ basket, which the good uncle’s own hands had packed, remained still unopened; so the baby was given over to the safe keeping of Rose, and the busy young wife began to distribute uncle Sandy’s tokens of remembrance. “This pot of honey is for you, Martha,--uncle Sandy thought you would like to give it to us all, now and then, on high days--and here is a bottle of cream from Mrs. Thomson, at the corner, and a little silk handkerchief to Rose, and the last of the apples to Violet--and see here, look, all of you, look!” Two little flower-pots carefully packed with moss, one of them bearing a tuft of fragrant little violets, the other proudly supporting a miniature rose-bush, with one little bud just appearing from its green leaves--good gentle uncle! He had been at so much trouble getting this fairy rose, and cherishing it in his little sitting-room, till this solitary bud rewarded his nursing. It was hailed with a burst of delight from Violet, and by the elder sisters, with a pleasure which almost reached to tears. “It is so like my uncle,” said Rose. And then with some happy excitement, they gathered round the tea-table. Harry had a great budget of local news to open, and the blithe Agnes interrupted him every moment to tell of her first impressions, and new acquaintance. There had been beautiful weather, sunny and soft, as it often is in the early part of April, and the young wife had left all cares behind her on the grave shoulders of Martha. Harry had been so well, so happy, so considerate--enjoying so thoroughly the simple pleasures of his old home, and the society of his pure unsophisticated uncle--Agnes thought she had never been so happy. And Harry’s face was sparkling with healthful blameless pleasure. He looked so man-like, the centre of their anxieties and wishes, and was in reality so fresh-hearted, and capable of innocent enjoyment, that Martha’s troubled heart grew glad over the success of her experiment. He had been home--he had seen again in these old scenes, the pure heroic fancies of his earliest youth, and many days hence the anxious sister thought the happy effect would remain.