She was still kneeling with her head on her folded arms when Marget came into the room carrying a tray. She made no comment on seeing the attitude of her mistress, but, putting the tray on the table, she went over to the window, and, remarking that if they had to flit it was a blessing Providence had arranged that they should flit when the days were long, she proceeded to pull down the blinds and light the gas. Then she leaned over her mistress and addressed her as if she were a small child. "I've brocht ye a cup o' tea an' a wee bit buttered toast. Ye wud get nae supper wi' thae wild laddies. Drink it while it's hot, and get awa' to your bed, like a guid lassie." Elizabeth uncoiled herself (to use her own phrase) and rose to her feet. She blinked in the gas-light with her tear-swollen eyes, then she made a face at Marget and laughed: "I'm an idiot, Marget, but somehow to-night it all seemed to come back. You and I have seen--changes.... You're a kind old dear, anyway; it's a good thing we always have you." "It is that," Marget agreed. "What aboot the men's breakfasts the morn's morning? I doot we hevna left dishes to gang roond." She stood and talked until she had seen Elizabeth drink the tea and eat the toast, and then herded her upstairs to bed. * * * * * One day in the end of June, Elizabeth fulfilled her promise to Thomas, and wrote to Mrs. Kirke asking if her two sons could be dispatched on a certain date by a certain train, and arrangements would be made for meeting them at the junction. It was a hot shining afternoon, and the Setons were having tea by the burnside. Mr. Jamieson (the lame Sunday-school teacher from the church in Glasgow) was staying with them for a fortnight, and he sat in a comfortable deck-chair with a book in his lap; but he read little, the book of Nature was more fascinating than even Sir Walter. His delight in his surroundings touched Elizabeth. "To think," she said to her father, "that we never thought of asking Mr. Jamieson to Etterick before! Lumps of selfishness, that's what we are." Mr. Seton suggested that it was more want of thought. "It amounts to the same thing," said his daughter. "I wonder if it would be possible to have Bob Scott out here? You know, my little waif with the drunken father? Of course he would corrupt the whole neighbourhood in about two days and be a horribly bad influence with Buff--but I don't believe the poor little chap has ever been in the real country. We must try to plan." Mr. Seton sat reading _The Times_. He was greatly worried about Ulster, and frequently said "_Tut-tut_" as he read.