'Ye micht hae let a body ken ye were comin'. Sic a potch,' she said ruefully. 'My, but ye are a picter, an nae mistak'.' Gladys laughed, and the sound rang through the place like sweetest music. 'Have you not been quite well? I think you are thinner,' she said kindly. 'No, I've no' been up to muckle; fair helpless some days wi' rheumatics. The washin's no' extra guid for them, but a body maun dae something for meat. I've anither mooth to fill noo. My guid-brither, Bob Johnson, is deid since I saw ye, an' I've been obleeged to tak' Tammy--no' an ill loon. He's at the schule, or ye wad hae seen him.' 'I don't suppose you would be sorry to leave this place and give up the washing if you could get something easier?' said Gladys. 'No' me; a' places are the same to me. Hae ye been up by?' asked Mrs. Macintyre significantly. Gladys shook her head. 'I came to see whether you would come and live in the lodge at my gate. It is a nice little house, and I would like to have you near me; you were such a kind friend in the old days.' Mrs. Macintyre drew her rough hand across her eyes, and turned somewhat sharply back to her wash-tub, and for the moment she gave no answer, good or bad. 'What aboot Tammy?' she asked at length. 'Oh, he could come with you, of course. He could go to school in Mauchline just as well as in Glasgow. Just say you'll come. I've set my heart on it, and nobody refuses me anything just now.' 'I'll come fast enough,' said Mrs. Macintyre, rubbing away as for dear life at her wash-board, upon which the big salt tears were dropping surreptitiously. 'Me no' want to leave this place? I'm no' that fond o't. Sometimes it's a perfect wee hell in this stair; it's no' guid for Tammy or ony wean. 'Deed, it's no' guid for onybody livin' in sic a place; but if ye are puir, an' tryin' to live decent, ye jist have to pit up wi' what ye can pay for. Ay, I'll come fast enough, an' thank ye kindly. But ye micht get a mair genty body for yer gate. I'm a rough tyke, an' aye was.' 'It is you I want,' replied Gladys; then, in a few words, she explained the very liberal arrangement she had in view for her old friend. After that, a little silence fell upon them, and a great wistfulness gathered in the girl's gentle eyes. 'So ye hinna been up by?' said Mrs. Macintyre. 'Are ye gaun?' 'Not to-day. Is Walter well?' 'Ay, he is weel. He's a fine chap, an' he's in terrible earnest aboot something,' said Mrs. Macintyre thoughtfully, as she shook out the garment she had been rubbing. 'There's a something deep doon in thon heart no' mony can see. But the place is no' the place it was to him or to me. What way wull ye no' gang up? Eh, but he wad be fell glad to see ye, my lady'-- 'I am not going to-day,' replied Gladys quietly, and even with a touch of coldness. 'You can tell him, if you like, that I was here, and that I hoped he was well.' 'Ay, I'll tell him. And are ye happy, my doo?'