Miss Aggie hurriedly snatched up her work, and the little wife drew away the baby in alarm. “Has he done much harm,” asked Agnes, “give it me, and I will put it in again.” “It’s nane the waur,” said the good-humoured hoyden, cutting out the injured “hole” with her scissors. “I’ll put it in with a stitch of point--it’s nae size. Jean’s at a new stitch, Mrs. Muir--did ye ever see it?” “It’s rather a pretty thing,” said Miss Jeanie, exhibiting it with prim complacence. “I learned it from Beenie Ure, at the warehouse, and it’s no ill to do. I was thinking of coming ben, to show Miss Rose; but it’s no every body that Beenie would have learned it to.” “Wha’s that at the outer door?” asked the idle brother, whose listless unoccupied life had made him quick to note all passing sounds. “Losh me!” said Miss Aggie, looking up, “its Mr. Muir, and he’s in an awfu’ hurry.” Agnes ran to open the door. It was indeed Harry, and the face of pale excitement which he turned upon her, struck the poor wife to the heart. Little Violet ran up the stair after him, with eager curiosity. There was a sullenness, quite unusual to it, on the colourless face of poor Harry. He passed his wife without saying a word. “Are you ill? what brings you home at this time? what is the matter, Harry?” cried the terrified Agnes. He only pressed before her into the sitting-room. As Harry entered, with Agnes and little Violet close behind him, the two melancholy workers in the parlour, started in painful surprise. “Harry is ill!” exclaimed Rose, with the constant instinct of apology, as she threw down her work on the table. “What now, Harry? what new misfortune has come upon us now?” asked the sterner voice of Martha. “Harry, what is it? what ails you?” said poor Agnes, clinging to his arm. He took off his hat, and began to press it between his hands. “Agnes, Martha,” said the young man with a husky dry voice, “it’s not my fault--not this time--I’ve lost my situation.” The little wife uttered a low cry, and looked at him and the baby. Lost his situation! the sole means of getting them bread. “What do you mean, Harry?” asked Martha. The young man’s sullen, despairing eye glanced round them all. Then he flung his hat on the table, and threw himself into the arm-chair. “I mean that, that’s all. I’ve lost my situation.” For a moment they stood still, looking in each other’s blank faces, as people do at the first stroke of a calamity; then Agnes put the baby into the arms of Rose, and herself glided round to the back of her husband’s chair. She could not bear to see him cast himself down so, and hide his face in his hands. Her own eyes were half blinded with tears, and her gentle heart failing; but however she might suffer herself, she could not see Harry so utterly cast down.