Very different was the effect upon Peter when he saw Isy coming to herself. It was a miracle indeed! It could be nothing less! White as was her face, there was in it an unmistakable look of reviving life! When she opened her eyes and saw her master bending over her, she greeted him with a faint smile, closed her eyes again, and lay still. James also soon began to show signs of recovery, and his father turned to him. With the old sullen look of his boyhood, he glanced up at his mother, still overwhelming him with caresses and tears. “Let me up,” he said querulously, and began to wipe his face. “I feel so strange! What can have made me turn so sick all at once?” “Isy’s come to life again!” said his mother, with modified show of pleasure. “Oh!” he returned. “Ye’re surely no sorry for that!” rejoined his mother, with a reaction of disappointment at his lack of sympathy, and rose as she said it. “I’m pleased to hear it—why not?” he answered. “But she gave me a terrible start! You see, I never expected it, as you did!” “Weel, ye _are_ hertless, Jeemie!” exclaimed his father. “Hae ye nae spark o’ fellow-feelin wi’ yer ain mither, whan the lass comes to life ’at she’s been fourteen days murnin for deid? But losh! she’s aff again!—deid or in a dwaum, I kenna!—Is’t possible she’s gaein to slip frae oor hand yet?” James turned his head aside, and murmured something inaudibly. But Isy had only fainted. After some eager ministrations on the part of Peter, she came to herself once more, and lay panting, her forehead wet as with the dew of death. The farmer ran out to a loft in the yard, and calling the herd-boy, a clever lad, told him to rise and ride for the doctor as fast as the mare could lay feet to the road. “Tell him,” he said, “that Isy has come to life, and he maun munt and ride like the vera mischeef, or she’ll be deid again afore he wins til her. Gien ye canna get the tae doctor, awa wi’ ye to the tither, and dinna ley him till ye see him i’ the saiddle and startit. Syne ye can ease the mere, and come hame at yer leisur; he’ll be here lang afore ye!—Tell him I’ll pey him ony fee he likes, be’t what it may, and never compleen!—Awa’ wi’ ye like the vera deevil!” “I didna think ye kenned hoo _he_ rade,” answered the boy pawkily, as he shot to the stable. “Weel,” he added, “ye maunna gley asklent at the mere whan she comes hame some saipy-like!” When he returned on the mare’s back, the farmer was waiting for him with the whisky-bottle in his hand. “Na, na!” he said, seeing the lad eye the bottle, “it’s no for you! ye want a’ the sma’ wit ye ever hed: it’s no _you_ ’at has to gallop; ye hae but to stick on!—Hae, Susy!” He poured half a tumblerful into a soup-plate, and held it out to the mare, who, never snuffing at it, licked it up greedily, and immediately started of herself at a good pace.