“Do you hear that now?” said Kirsty, amazed. “Indeed, I would be often hearing that those French people are just full of poison and such, and indeed, it is no wonder, for the food they put inside of them.” “O, no, “ said Mrs. Murray, “it is the same with all people, but especially so with sick people.” Kirsty looked as doubtful as was consistent with her respect for the minister's wife, and Mrs. Murray went on. “So you will just get the sheets ready to change, and, Kirsty, a clean night-shirt.” “Night-shirt! and indeed, he has not such a thing to his name.” Kirsty's tone betrayed her thankfulness that her brother was free from the effeminacy of a night-shirt; but noting the dismay and confusion on Mrs. Murray's face, she suggested, hesitatingly, “He might have one of my own, but I am thinking it will be small for him across the back.” “I am afraid so, Kirsty,” said the minister's wife, struggling hard with a smile. “We will just use one of his own white shirts.” But this scandalized Kirsty as an unnecessary and wasteful luxury. “Indeed, there is plenty of them in the chist, but he will be keeping them for the communion season, and the funerals, and such. He will not be wearing them in his bed, for no one will be seeing him there at all.” “But he will feel so much better,” said Mrs. Murray, and her smile was so sweet and winning that Kirsty's opposition collapsed, and without more words both sheets and shirt were produced. As Kirsty laid them out she observed with a sigh: “Aye, aye, she was the clever woman--the wife, I mean. She was good with the needle, and indeed, at anything she tried to do.” “I did not know her,” said Mrs. Murray, softly, “but every one tells me she was a good housekeeper and a good woman.” “She was that,” said Kirsty, emphatically, “and she was the light of his eyes, and it was a bad day for Hugh when she went away.” “Now, Kirsty,” said Mrs. Murray, after a pause, “before we put on these clean things, we will just give him a sponge bath.” Kirsty gasped. “Mercy sakes! He will not be needing that in the winter, and he will be getting a cold from it. In the summer-time he will be going to the river himself. And how will you be giving him a bath whatever?” Mrs. Murray carefully explained the process, again fortifying her position by referring to the practices of the Montreal hospital, till, as a result of her persuasions and instructions, in an hour after Macdonald had awakened from his sleep he was lying in his Sabbath white shirt and between fresh sheets, and feeling cleaner and more comfortable than he had for many a day. The fever was much reduced, and he fell again into a deep sleep. The two women watched beside him, for neither would leave the other to watch alone. And Ranald, who could not be persuaded to go up to his loft, lay on the bunk in the kitchen and dozed. After an hour had passed, Mrs. Murray inquired as to the nourishment Kirsty had given her brother.