The private life of its inmates was not hid from Elspeth. She, too, remembered and took anxious note of the Indian mail-day. As she came down the path, wiping the flour of her baking from her hands on the snow-white of her apron, her deep, dark eyes scanned the beloved face of her darling with all a mother’s solicitude. Elspeth was now considerably over forty--a comely, motherly woman with a clear, rosy face and abundant black hair, a model wife and mother, and the staunchest friend of Isla Mackinnon’s whole life. When she opened the little gate, she saw that Isla could not speak, and that her face was wan and dark under the eyes. She took her by the two hands and drew her towards the door of the house. "It is pad news, whatefer, my lamb. I knew it wass comin’ at twelve o’clock last night when that thrawn prute of a cock wouldna stop his crawin’. I wass for Donald gettin’ up to thraw hiss ill neck, only he wouldna." Isla did not speak, and, quite suddenly, when they got within the house, where the baby, in a queer little cage of Donald’s making, was crowing in the middle of the floor, she threw herself into Elspeth’e arms and burst into a storm of weeping. Now, this was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in Elspeth’s experience, and it seemed to presage such woe as she had not dreamed of. For the Mackinnons were a proud and self-contained race, and to make parade of their feelings was impossible for them. It may be that they, as a family, had erred in repressing them too much. There had been but three in the family--the third being an elder sister who had married young and died in childbed. Her death was the first sorrow that had helped to take the spring out of the old man’s heart. He had never, perhaps, been quite just to Isla, because he had loved his first-born best. "There, there, my lammie! God forpid that you should cry your heart oot like that. Put there--it will do ye good! Oh, the man that invented the post hass a heap to answer for. In the old days the trouble had plown ower, whatefer, afore we got wind of it, especially when it happened in foreign parts. What is he sayin’ till it the day, my dear? It is not impident curiosity that pids me ask, put I canna pear to see ye like this." It was all spoken in a crooning voice which had the effect of soothing the overcharged heart of the girl. That outburst of natural tears was the very best thing which could have happened to her. Thus relieved, her heart quickly recovered its strength. She drew back, smiling weakly, begged to be forgiven for such an exhibition, and fumbled inside her blouse for the missive that had wrought such woe.