They were all sitting round her--Martha close by her on the sofa, supporting and gently moving, when she wished it, her delicate feeble frame. And Rose held the baby up to her, while little Harry, wondering, and solemnly silent, stood by her, with his arm resting on her knee. Uncle Sandy, much shaken, and looking ten years older, stood behind at the window, trying, with much exertion, to compose himself, and speak to Agnes of the duty and necessity of resignation: but the good old man needed the exhortation as much as she did. Lettie, last of all, sat on a stool by the fire very silent, practising a stitch of “opening” which she had importuned Rose to teach her; and Katie Calder, behind Lettie, looked over her shoulder, and learned the stitch too. “What are we to do, Martha?” said Agnes feebly. “Tell me, I will soon be well now--are we to go away?” Martha laid her hand on little Harry’s head, and drew him into the midst. The child stood gravely silent, looking up under her hand, with wondering eyes, and ruddy lips apart. Poor little Harry had cried a great deal through these seven days, for he could not understand why they led him after the coffin, and made him stand beside the grave. He cried then with dread and terror, but since then, many a time had Harry asked Mysie what had become of papa. “This bairn must have the land, free as when we came,” said Martha, calmly; “and when the land is clear and redeemed, Agnes, he must have fair fame, and family credit, and good report, to add to his inheritance. I am left in trust to clear the land for its heir: we must stay in Allenders.” Agnes did not speak for a moment. She glanced round the room, first with a sick, despairing look, as if in fear of all its associations, then with tears and melting tenderness. The young mother put one feeble arm round her boy, and leaned her head upon Martha’s shoulder, “I am very glad,” she said, “very glad--we will have no other home.” This was all that was said to her in her weakness about the will, which might have added a concealed pang to Agnes’s lawful grief--for now she too was jealous of Harry’s love, and could not bear to think that any one had shared it with her, in anything near the same degree. Poor Harry! it was true that Martha and Uncle Sandy perceived the rash, unconsidering generosity, which set natural justice aside, to make this hasty will; but they said this to no one, nor to each other even; and in the hearts of all, Harry’s sins were forgotten. He was already a saint canonized by sorrow and love. “And Katie and me would like to do the opening,” said Lettie in a half-whisper; “and Martha, Katie wants you to tell her that she’s no to go back to Miss Jean.” “Oh, will you let me stay?” said little Katie, pathetically, “I’ll never be ony trouble, and I could do the opening fine.”