“Thank ye kindly, sir,” returned Isy. “I _am_ a bit tired!—But I won’er ye kenned me!” “Weel, I canna jist say I ken ye by the name fowk ca’ ye; and still less div I ken ye by the name the Lord ca’s ye; but nowther maitters muckle to her that kens He has a name growin for her—or raither, a name she’s growin til! Eh, what a day will that be whan ilk habitant o’ the holy city ’ill tramp the streets o’ ’t weel kenned and weel kennin!” “Ay, sir! I ’maist un’erstan’ ye ootricht, for I h’ard ye ance sayin something like that to the mistress, the nicht ye broucht hame the maister’s shune to Stanecross. And, eh, I’m richt glaid to see ye again!” They were already in the house, for she had followed him in almost mechanically; and the soutar was setting for her the only chair there was, when the cry of a child reached their ears. The girl started to her feet. A rosy flush of delight overspread her countenance; she fell a-trembling from head to foot, and it seemed uncertain whether she would succeed in running to the cry, or must fall to the floor. “Ay,” exclaimed the soutar, with one of his sudden flashes of unquestioning insight, “by the luik o’ ye, ye ken that for the cry o’ yer ain bairn, my bonny lass! Ye’ll hae been missin him, sair, I doobt!—There! sit ye doon, and I’ll hae him i’ yer airms afore ae meenut!” She obeyed him and sat down, but kept her eyes fixed on the door, wildly expectant. The soutar made haste, and ran to fetch the child. When he returned with him in his arms, he found her sitting bolt upright, with her hands already apart, held out to receive him, and her eyes alive as he had never seen eyes before. “My Jamie! my ain bairn!” she cried, seizing him to her bosom with a grasp that, trembling, yet seemed to cling to him desperately, and a look almost of defiance, as if she dared the world to take him from her again. “O my God!” she cried, in an agony of thankfulness, “I ken ye noo! I ken ye noo! Never mair wull I doobt ye, my God!—Lost and found!—Lost for a wee, and found again for ever!” Then she caught sight of Maggie, who had entered behind her father, and stood staring at her motionless,—with a look of gladness indeed, but not all of gladness.