The sick woman hardly seemed to hear. Her eyes had closed again, and she had fallen into the fitful sleep of weakness. Elizabeth sat and looked at the old face, with its stern, worn lines. Here was a woman who had lived her hard, upright life, with no soft sayings and couthy ways, and she was dying as she had lived, "uncheered and undepressed" by the world's thoughts of her. The fog crept close to the window. Kate put the dishes she had washed into the press. The London express rushed past on its daily journey. The familiar sound struck on the dim ear, and Mrs. Veitch asked, "Is that ma denner awa' by?" Kate wiped her eyes. The time-honoured jest hurt her to-day. "Poor mother!" she said. "She's aye that comical." "When I was a lassie," said Mrs. Veitch, "there was twae things I had a terrible notion of--a gig, an' a gairden wi' berries. Ma mither said, 'Bode for a silk goon and ye'll get a sleeve o't,' and Alec said, 'Bide a wee, lassie, an I'll get ye them baith.' Ay, but, Alec ma man, ye've been in yer grave this forty year, an' I've been faur frae gairdens." The tired mind was wandering back to the beginning of things. She plucked at the trimming on the sleeve of her night-dress. "I made this goon when I was a lassie for ma marriage. They ca'ed this 'flowering.' I mind fine sittin' sewin' it on simmer efternunes, wi' my mither makin' the tea. Scones an' new-kirned butter an' skim-milk cheese. _I can taste that tea._ Naebody could mak' tea like ma mither. I wish I had a drink o' it the noo, for I'm terrible dry. There was a burn ran by oor door an' twae muckle stanes by the side o' it, and Alec and me used to sit there and crack--and crack." Her voice trailed off, and Elizabeth looked anxiously at Kate so see if so much talking was not bad for her mother; but Kate said she thought it pleased her to talk. It was getting dark and the kitchen was lit only by the sparkle of the fire. "I'd better light the gas," Kate said, reaching for the matches. "The doctor'll be in soon." Elizabeth watched her put a light to the incandescent burner, and when she turned again to the bed she found the sick woman's eyes fixed on her face. "You're like your faither, lassie," said the weak voice. "It's one-and-twenty years sin' I fell acquaint wi' him. I had flitted to this hoose, and on the Sabbath Day I gaed into the nearest kirk to see what kinna minister they hed. I've niver stayed awa' willingly a Sabbath sin' syne.... The first time he visited me kent by ma tongue that I was frae Tweedside." "'Div 'ee ken Kilbucho?' I speired at him. "'Fine,' he says. "'Div 'ee ken Newby and the gamekeeper's hoose by the burn?"