Helen's heart bled to see the famishing multitudes wandering along the beach at high water, like shadows--so thin, so wasted--looking with longing eyes for the retreat of the tide, that they might commence their search for any shellfish they could find upon the rocks, or any other substance which the ingenuity of man could convert to food, however loathsome, to satisfy the hunger that was consuming them. There were to be seen mothers, bearing their infants--unmindful of the rain that for days poured down, more or less; and fathers, more resembling spectres than men, either upon their knees in the middle of their family, imploring Heaven for aid, or following the wave in its slow retreat to the utmost bound with anxious looks, exulting if their search procured them a few limpets or whelks. During this tedious summer, William Kerr returned occasionally to his deserted farm; but it lay waste and uninviting, more resembling a swamp than arable land. His heart fell within him at the sight. No one had called; everything remained as it was; even the direction he had written upon his door, telling where he was to be found, remained undefaced, save by the pelting rain. Towards autumn the weather became more warm and dry, and promised a change for the better. The family, with joy, returned once more to the farm, to prepare for better seasons. As soon as they entered the cold damp house, where fire had not been kindled for many months, Colin, the faithful and sagacious dog, blind as he was, gave a feeble bark for joy, ran tottering round each well-remembered spot; then, stretching himself on his wonted lair beside the fire, which Helen was busy kindling, licked her hand as she patted his head, stretched his limbs, gave a faint howl, and expired. All felt as if they had lost a friend. This winter was more mild than any that had been remembered for many years, and gave token of an early and genial spring. The famine was still very severe; but hope began to appear in the faces of the most reduced and desponding. William Kerr procured seed corn from Stranraer, and distributed some among his less wealthy neighbours to sow their lands. For eleven long years no word had been received of Willie, the widow's son, as he had been called, although he had been often the subject of discourse at William Kerr's fireside. The little ebony box had never been opened since the day of the funeral. There was now little chance of his ever returning to receive its contents, and far less of Helen's ever leaving Minniegaff in quest of him; and, as Elizabeth had allowed Helen, if she chose, to read the papers, William and Grizzel proposed that she should do so. She immediately opened it, and took out the packet, which was neatly sealed, and tied by a riband. There was no direction upon it. Having broken it open, the first paper was found to be directed "To William B---- of B----;" and ran thus:--