If providence had been unkind to any person in the Glen it was to Marjorie, for her birth had been a tragedy, and the helpless child, blind and feeble, had been flung upon the world. She had never known father or mother, she had never seen the primroses in the Tochty woods when spring made her first visit, nor the purple of the heather in autumn time, nor the golden com in the field before her door, nor the sunshine upon the Burn down below. She had no kinsfolk to take charge of her, she had no claim upon any one except the poor law authorities, and had she been bom into a parish like Kilbogie the workhouse had been her only asylum. But it was a kindly little world into which this poor waif and stray had come--a world which had not many words nor much money, whose ways were curious and whose manner was austere, but whose heart was big and warm. Drumtochty had its laws of public policy which Government itself was never able to over-ride, which every man and woman in the Glen set themselves to enforce. And one was that no native of the Glen should ever be sent to the coldness and bondage of a workhouse; that however poor he might be and however long he lived, he must be kept in the shelter of our pine woods where he could see the Tochty run. As a matter of fact, this was not so great a burden on the neighbours, for Drumtochty folk had a rooted objection, which not even the modern spirit creeping up into the Glen could overcome, against being paupers or depending on any person save on themselves and God. Drumtochty had no pity for wastrels and very little sympathy with shiftless people, but Marjorie, poor Marjorie, she had the spirit to work--we judged she had about the highest spirit in the Glen--but what could she do without sight and with her trembling hands? So the Glen adopted Marjorie, and declared in wayside talk and many a kirkyard conference that she had given them more than they had ever given to her.