I had never asked Tammas and Marget for Elsie’s history. I knew it had been sad to them. "I did not tell you about her. I did not tell you, lad, it was all too sad," said Marget, as if guessing my thoughts, "but noo that it is so long ago and you have grown, you and Elsie, I think it only fair that we tell you only a bit of it, so that you may not misjudge her, nor us," and she looked inquiringly at Tammas. Tammas nodded. "She was oor only daughter," she said, "we never saw him. He stole oor lassie when she lookit jist as ye see yon ane, and nae aulder, an’ because she wasna’ o’ his station, his graun’ folk scorned her and her bairn. Aye, but he was true, tho’, standing up for oor lassie till—till. Weel, there was a tragedy, an’ he had to flee for his life. He gaed to the war somewhere—we never saw him—an’ we dinna ken. Then she died, and syne we cam’ here wi’ Elsie." I saw the tears start into her eyes. "E-lsie, E-lsie, here’s our Mr. Jack come back," she called. Instantly there was a flutter of feet withdrawn from the pool. The pitcher was left on the bank, and the hat also. She came running, her blue eyes smiling at me, quite unembarrassed, and even singularly calm. She came up, put both her hands into mine, and her blue eyes flashed at me. "Kiss him," laughed Marget, "it’s oor ain Mr. Jack." She instantly obeyed, touching me lightly on one cheek. Then in an earnest little voice she said, "Mr. Jack, I’m so glad you have come home. How I have missed you these four years!" "If I had dreamed that you had grown to be so beautiful," I said teasingly, "I’d have come home sooner." She glanced at me quickly and seriously. "Oh, I’ve forgotten my cream and it’s time for breakfast," she said hastily, and ran back down the path. "I should say so, Marget," I said. "How hungry I am!" "It’s good to be here again," I added, as I sat down to the little table; "and, Tammas, there is Elsie back with the cream. Put on some of that clotted cream in the pot, cream thick, for it is a long lost brother that I’ve been separated from." "Ay, but the cottage cheese. Don’t forget that is your appetizer," cried Marget authoritatively, as she pushed a great saucer, flaked up to white foaminess, toward me. For answer I fell to. "Hold!" cried Tammas, his hand going up and the great fun-loving mouth changing to quick solemnity. Often as a boy I had seen his hand raised most unexpectedly, and never had I failed to obey. My head bent. Then Tammas, his great knotted hand uplifted, prayed in Scotch, as was his wont: "’Oh, Thou wha kindly dost provide, For every creature’s want! We bless Thee, God o’ Nature wide, For a’ Thy goodness lent: An’ gin it please Thee, heavenly guide, May never waur be sent; But whether granted or denied, Lord, bless us wi’ content!’ And to-day thanks be added, greatest of all, that our Jackie is with us again. Amen!" "Amen," chimed in Marget.