“They wish to remain together, I fancy,” said Cuthbert, sadly remembering the bitter tie which kept them beside poor Harry; “but both for health and happiness, Mr. Muir, I should fancy they would be better with you.” “Say you so?” said the old man, eagerly, “for happiness; aye, say you so?” Cuthbert hastened to explain away, so far as he could, the painful meaning of his words, leaving it to be inferred that it was only the fresh air and freedom of this pleasant place, of which they stood in need. “I am going in for a while with this gentleman,” said uncle Sandy, raising his voice as he turned to his little congregation; “but mind there is no need for you turning idle because I am not here to look after you; mind and be eident, as the cotter’s bairns were bidden to be.” The girls acknowledged the smiling speech addressed to them by great demonstration of industry, and for a few minutes the blue stamped leaves and branches of their muslin grew into white embroidery with wonderful speed. The old man looked round upon them with a smile, as they sat bending down their heads under the glistening sunshine over their pretty work, and then, laying his book on his chair, he led the way into the house. The parlour was a very small one, considerably less than the best bed-room, which occupied the front of the house, and which, by an occupant of less poetic taste, would have been made the sitting-room. But Alexander Muir did not like the dull prospect of the little back street; he preferred to look out upon the garden in which so much of his time was spent, and the little room was large enough for all his quiet necessities.