’Ally,’ she called, ’oh, Ally! what do you think? The gods are kind at last—Fortune smiles! Did I not tell you I’d get my heart’s desire? Here is a letter from my cousin Nimmo—Miss Nimmo—and she asks me to a tea-drinking at her house to-morrow; ’tis actually to meet—to meet and be made known to, the Poet—my poet—the world’s poet—the immortal bard—ah! magic name—to Robert Burns!’ Alison smiled down at her friend with her kind, gentle grey eyes. ’I’m so glad, Nancy,’ she said; ’’twill be a great event—and how lucky you are home in time!’ ’La, yes, child, indeed!’ said Nancy. ’Supposing I had missed it, I’d have gone mad, I think, with sheer vexation! Ally, you’ve brought me happiness, you’ve brought luck to my house!’ She flung an arm about Alison’s waist; she was almost dancing with glee. Her great dark eyes shone and glowed, her vivid lips were parted, to let her hurried breathing come and go. Beside the quiet, calm, unstirred country girl—a something tropical, she seemed, turning to passion, as the flower turns to the light it cannot live without. ’But now, to bed!’ she cried. ’To bed, boys, Alison, all. To-morrow must come quick, quick—on wings, Ally, on wings!’ So the little rooms were darkened, and Alison, feeling rather big and strange amid her new surroundings, took possession of Jean’s closet, feeling more at home when she found that Danny slept beside her, in a little cot like Jacky’s. *CHAPTER XIII.* A north wind, whistling at the windows, awoke Alison next morning from rather troubled dreams of The Mains, and her mother, and Mr. Cheape. But it is difficult not to be cheerful at twenty, and Alison, who was a sensible and wholesome young woman, had soon put away night-thoughts, and was prepared to enter heartily into all the brisk novelty of her surroundings. Nancy’s home, if a garret, was a very lively garret, with the boys at their play, Jean’s cheerful industries, and its own gay, fascinating little mistress, tripping here and there, with laughter ever on her lips and in her eyes. ’Why, Ally,’ she cried, ’the sun shines on you, child! ’Tis the first fine morning for a month. You must get a walk and see the town.’ She was busy with a dress, as she spoke, a gay thing of rose pink, just sobered down with black, that she had taken out of a press. ’For, you see, love,’ she said, ’I must be modish to-night, if ever so in my life. Had there been time, I’d have had a new gown to deck poor Nancy’s fading charms, and fit them for a poet’s eye.’ ’You’d look pretty in anything,’ said Alison, meaning every word. Nancy laughed, with the liquid sparkle of her wonderful almond eyes.