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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. errata i to a peiure, ion A n 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 T] THOMAS DRYBURGH'S DREAM. ■//. ^^1 c. r .1^ ; 7 EDINBURGH and LONDON OLIPHANT, ANDERSON & FERRIER 1889 276216 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine, by William Brioos, Book Steward of the Methodist Book and Publishing House, Toronto, at the Department of AgriculLuro. CONTENTS. — "*• [CHAPTKR I. MARY derrick's HOME, ir. SYMPATHY, .... in. THE children's hospital, . IV. THE GIRNEL MEAL MILL, V. THE miller's WOOINO, VI. THE DREAM, VII. THE AWAKENING, VIII. TIBBIE, , , , IX. A HAPPY ENDING, PAOB t 16 28 39 47 57 66 75 85 / 'f THOMAS DRYBURGirS DREAM. c^.^ <" ) i ^-'0'o CHAPTER I. r\ MARY DEIUIICK S HOME. T was a poor, little place, possessing few enoucfh of the attributes of home. An attic twelve feet square, with a sloping roof and white-washed walls, from which the winter rains had stri[)ped much of the plastj^r, a broken, moth-eaten floor, and a narrow chimney so near the roof that the light could stream in and the rains descend upon the low grate in which, on a cold, October afternoon, a feeble spark of fire dimly burned : such was Mary Derrick's home. She was sitting in the little window in the fading light, bending over a coarse garment, sewing as for dear life. It was such a sweet face upon which the pale October light lingered, and an attractive one still, in spite of the sad lines and curves, which could not have been planted there by the hand of Time, for THOMAS DRYBUROH'S DRF.AM. she was still very young, little more than a i^\r\, one might have said, though the badge of wifehood glittered on her left hand. Though she had been in sore straits sometimes, Mary Derrick had clung fust to her weddinff-rinp^, the onlv thinjy left to reminmer i]| the e]|iibii of; hei MARY DERRICK S HOME. .'.'»£ 13 tmtry garden the same sweet old flowers had )omed summer after summer, seeming only to grow i^re fragrant and beautiful as the years went by. Oh, for a breath of that pure, sweet, bracing air! Ob, for a glint of the silver flowing stream ! Oh, to h^r once more the cawing of the rooks, and the nmsic of the old mill wheel ! A loAV and somewhat hesitating knock at the door interrupted the widow's reverie. She stepped back aod cautiously inquired who the intruder was ere she turned the key in the lock. ,;** It is Mrs. West. My husband is the minister of si* Magdalene," replied a sweet, kind voice. ** Won't you allow me to come in C " Mary Derrick hesitated a moment. Hitherto she had kept her door resoluteh^ closed against the Bible- women and the district visitors, for she was proud in the midst of her poverty, and would not make exJiibition or trade of her circumstances, as too many of; her neighbours did without scruple. But the voice was gentle and winning, and it was long since slS had spoken in confidence or sympathy to one of own sex. After that brief hesitation she turned key, and, opening the door, signed the visitor to cope in. Then she relocked the door and turned to locp. at the intruder. She was quite a young lady, and her face was one of the sweetest Mary Derrick had ever seen — not onlv because of its natural ilf u THOMAS DRYBURGH S DREAM. beauty, thonj^h that was very marked, but because otwtl} the sweet spirit of lovino^-kindness which shone iniojele the earnest eyes, and phiyed upon every feature **I She glanced compassionately round the poor littleaid ^1 room, and her eyes grew dim. ul ^h " Won't you tell me your name ? " she said gently^ujt s " I have tried your door several times, but have'^oW, never been able to gain admittance. I concludsdo Irilf that the room was unoccupied, until a woman downer it. stairs told me you lived here." tandir " I heard you, at least, I heard the knocking," replie(l'ro^d, I 'm puir, I 've never needed, nor taken, charity." 'ouiig Mrs. West's eyes were troubled a little as slif^Sf J^^^ answered, "It was not to offer charity I came, but "-^^ to speak a kind word, or help you a little if I could"® ^^'^ Is this your little baby ? oh, what a lovely child ! " he wei As she spoke Mrs. West set down the basket she'**^y ^^ carried, and stepped over to the side of the bed'^^^^^' whither Mavy Derrick felt impelled to follow her. "®|'^^^ " She does not look strong, poor little thing," said the minister's wife, gently. " I love babies. I havnj two of my own, you see," she added, with a s^vift brigh;^| smile. " Have you had a doctor to see her recently ?'^| " No ; but I ken what 's the maitter. Her faithei deed no' lang ago. It's jist a dwinin' like his,^^^" She'll slip awa' -ine." Mary Derrick spoke quite'®*4 ^^ iM. MARY DERRICK S HOME. 15 but because otufetly, but there was a dreary ring of despair and ,'hich shone iniopelcss misery in her voice. every feature. II would not be quite so certain about that," the poor littleaia ^Irs. West, speaking cheerfully. " It is wonder- ul what a little skill and good nursing can do. We she said f^ently^ust see what can be done for your dear little one. mes, but have'^oy* don't look at me like that ! You must not be I concludedo "filfully proud ; though I like you all tlie better k woman down-orlt. I won't offer anything except on the under- tanding that you will repay it when you can," she ockinf," replied'^I^d, with a little humorous smile which was like a ■defiance in hei^astt of sunlight on her face. She knew so well the 3se. Althou4>roi| patient nature with which she had to deal ; m charity." 'o^g though she was, Adelaide West was an unerr- i little as sh^g j"dge of human nature. ty I came, but "But it is our duty and privilege, as children of ttle if I coul(l!^®'S^'^® Father, to help and comfort one another ; " )vely child!" he went on, quietly. "But, we will arrange about the basket she**% afterwards ; come now, tell me a little about e of the bed'^^^^^f- I^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^ curiosity I ask, believe follow her. 06|but because, when I know more of your circum- le thino"," saiil^W^^ ^ ^^^ ■'^^^P J^^ better, you know. It is out abies. I hav'^ ^''^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^J ^^^^ great happiness that I try 1 a swift briMi:^ w ^ ^'^^^^^ for the Master ; and you will help me her recentl/? ^ # ^^' ^i^l y^" ^^^ ? " - Her faither 9^y Derrick looked wonderingly for a moment min' like his,'^^'*'^® sweet, earnest face, and then dropping her k spoke quitc^®**^ ^^ ^®^ hands, bui-st into tears. CHAPTER n. SY^rPATHY, ^ERY wisely Mrs. West allowed that healinl stream to have freest vent. She guessel how long the natural feelings had beel pent in Mary Derrick's sad breast, and knowing that she had touched the lieart of till lonely widow, she was content to wait till worij could come. "I beg pardon, ma'am," said Mrs. Derrick length, speaking in trembling, apologetic tones ; " bi I couldna help it. It is so long since a body spok| a kind word to me. I didna kon I was so weak." " Hush, hush ! Don't excuse yourself, I prajl I am glad to see these tears," said Mrs. Wes quickly. " I can guess how very lonely and saJ your life must be. It must be a terrible thing to bj a widow." " Ay, is it," said Mary quietly. ** Mair terribll yet when the guidman was a' the freen' a woman body had in the warld." 16 \A U: 1^)^ (1 that healinj She guessei incjs had bee ul breast, an heart of tLj ait till wor Derrick ic tones ; " b a body spok| ls so weak." rself, I praj id Mrs. We •nely and sa )le thing to b Mair terribL reen' a womai « ! it'll SYMPATUi. 19 " You have neitlier father nor mother, then ? You e an orphan ?" said the minister's wife quietly. Yes, I am an orphan," said Mary Derrick briefly; ,d then there was a momentary silence. She did it intend to communicate very much of her per- nal history evidently, but Mrs. West had respect Y her reticence, because it showed that her tlomanly pride and reserve had survived the change ft her circumstances. " Ye hae a kind face an' a kind heart, mem," said Mary presently, " so I '11 tell ye my bit story ; though y6 are the first ane wha has heard it frae my lips ski' I came to Dimleith. Ye '11 no ken a bit bonny dachan about twenty miles sooth frae here, ca'd Balwhinnie ?" '• I have heard of the place, tliough I have never l»en there," replied Mrs. West. " Weel, I was born an' brocht up aboot a mile firae it, at the Girnel Meal Mill, whaur my faither Was born an' brocht up afore me, an' mony o' his forbears afore him," said Mary Derrick, with a dfeamy look in her shadowed eyes, telling that her thoughts had wandered far from her present sur- wlmdiiigs. " Dryburgh o' the meal mill is a weel- t name in that country-side ; an' it 's weel kent |, I suppose, though I hinna heard muckle aboot thiB place for lang. I was an only lassie, an' my Bttithwv deed when I w^h born. I Ijiad »h britheri 20 THOMAS DRYBURrJH S DREAM. I I ^1 Tiimnnas by name, wlia was ten years anlder tliac ijither me. My initlier never had but tlie twa bairns, an j^ml I hae whiles thocht it was a peoty I dirlna dee \\\ h|e ta her ; but tliat 's jist when my heart gets gey fan: i^ o* d')on, ye ken, an' a' the warhl looks dark. M; tlleni e fiiitlier was a hard man, for the Dryburghs were ay. £i|k a\ misers, hardly just wi' greed, so I hadna a vcr; o^ldnj blithe time o' it when I was a bairn, an' lang afor. 1% an' : I was oot o' my teens I was keepin' the hoose roof, w' weighed doon wi' the care o' garrin' a wee pickl* the dn gang a lang way, when neebors' bairns o' my ag body a( were playin' thirsels on the green. So it made m otlier ^ auld afore my time. When I was saxteen m bolter i faither deed suddenly, an' left nae wull ; so, by tli- my mii law, the mill an' what bawbees there were belongci ^ijpry « to Tam. They telt me I couldna claim a ha'penny I coulc but I wasna carin' much then, for I didna ken wha niy ear a pooer money is in the warld, nor hoo impossibl qiUite. it is to get on withoot it. My faither had been : hard man, sweer to part wi' a bawbee even t pay a just debt, but my brither was ten degree waur. He wad hardly eat hissel', nor let itlie folk eat, an' mony a bickerin' we had. There wasi muckle love lost atween us, for besides bein' so muu aulder, Tam was a soor, queer, morose man, wi' kittle temper it wasna very easy to put up ui I was different again, for though I had a hot enoii.' iofH la temper tae, I wm blytb© an' ohtery, like what m baWbees ,'i! I i^jifc SYMPATHY, 21 anlder than vii bairns, an lidna doe w'l yds gey fain s dark. M\ '<;hs were av* [ladna a ver; LU* lang afor- q' the hooso a wee picklt ns o' my ag o it made ro saxteen m 11 ; so, by tlv were belongei a a ha'penm Ina ken wha 100 impossibi r had been : »vbee even t s ten d egret nor let itlit There wasi; bein' so muc )se man, wi' ) put up \\'\ a hot enoui.' like what m ither was in her young days afore the spirit was g|und oot o' her by years of oppression. 1 wad ta'en up gladly wi' young folk, but they were o' comin' to the Girnel, for Tara didna show m muckle kindness. But though he could keep awa* wi* his soor looks and snappy words, he Idna prevent me gaun oot, sair though he tried an' mony a happy nicht I spent undei a neebor's f, when Tarn was sittin' nrrsin' his ill-temper in dreary cauld kitchen at the Girnel. Mony a y advised me to leave him, and seek service some er gate, whaur I wad be baith better paid and ter treated ; but somehow I never could mak' up mind to leave the auld place. Ye see, I kent ry stick and stane about it, an' I whiles thocht ouldna sleep without the noise o* the burnie in ears in the nicht time when the wheel was te. So things gaed on for a year or twa, until ae t time, at a maiden, I met my ain guidman, hen Derrick." A quick sob broke from Mary's as she uttered the dear name which was aved on her heart in letters of gold. He was an English lad, as ye may hae guessed his name, an* was an orphan like mysel'. He waja clerk here in Dunleith, but hadna been strong fona lang time, an' as he had saved a wee pickle bawbees, had cam' oot to the hills for a breath o' dreary toon. He was hidin' at the inn in the clachan an' as his bright cheery way won a'body's heart, lit was sune acquaint roond aboot, an' was aye welcome at the fireside, for, though I say it, he could tell a story an' sing a sang wi' onybody, and he played the fiddle like a professional. I saw him for the first time at the maiden at Leerie Law, an* he crackit a heap to me, an' we danced thegither mair nor aince and syne he took me hame to the Girnel. Weel, I needna say muckle mair aboot it, ye hae been coortit yersel', an* ye ken hoo the thing gaed on. But ye canna ken what a precious glint o' sunshine my love was to me, for my life was that lanesome ♦^hat whiles my heart was like to break for the things ither lasses had in plenty. So when Stephen gaed back to Dunleith, he took wi' him my plighted trotL As sune as he had made a pickle to plenish a bit hoosie I was ready to come. " Stephen spak* to Tarn afore he gaed awa', but he said very little. The frank, fearless way which made a'body like him seemed to hae an effect even on mj brithor. He only said ae thing. He askit him il he kent that I had nae tocher, nor a bawbee I could ca* my ain, an' telt him that as he was a puir man he could gi*e me naething. Guid forgi*e him for the lee, for he had hunders in the bank, the half o' which was mine by richt, though the law said no. 1 l,h mie to ll^gh. 3t a tiokn tbat s Lwliil k»il. i^e tu( I Was fifst hftpi)ii sair hi atftd in Bkerry HI Sat tiere oome, Mrs. ^ ote liClr m( nly m ar. ne\ l^ose l)iith( I car( fidthf m M. SYMPATHT. 23 winter in tlii- in the clachiui ly's heart, lu i aye welconi6 ) could tell a he played the i for the first he crackit a mir nor aincc, rirnel. Weel, ye hae been ling gaed on. it o' sunshine ihat lanesome for the thhijfs Stephen gaed )lighted troth. plenish a bit d awa', but he y which made t even on my askit him i} wbee I could 3 a puir maD e him for the the half o' law said no. jphen spak* up, an' said it was me he wantod, au Il|e tocher or bawbees, at which Tarn gied u hit snor Uiigh, which made my lad's cheek burn ; but for my miG he held his peace. I dinna ken what it was, b|t a' that winter I had a miserable time o'd. It tdbk me a' my time to pit up wi' my brither, he was t|at snappy and ill-tempered, an' nearer than ever, livhiles telt him we wad sune no get saut to oor kill. Ho was aye flingin' oot a bit sly reproach at nie tae, tellin' me that efter a' he had dune for me, I was ready enough to leave him, an* gang atf wi' the fint man that speired my price. But the well o' htppiness in my ain heart keepit me frae bein' sae M^r hurt wi' his sneers ; and so the winter wore awa*, ipd in the simmer time I was mairret. We had nae iierry-makin*, nor nae thing. Stephen jist cam' oot 1(1 Saturday, an' we gaed to the manse, an* went frae tjkere to the station, man and wife. Tarn wadna me, an* the witnesses were the minister*s maid an* s. Semple hersel', and she was greetin* when she ote doon her name. I ken it was oot o* sympathy me, an' she kissed me after I was made a wife, for mither's sake she said, and the minister gied me new five-pound note, to buy something for the ose. So I was blithe an* happy as a queen. My lather's greed was the talk o* the toon, but what did I care though he gied me naething for my years o' &ithful service ? He wad hae my account to f t it !f 24 THOMAS DRYBURGH's DRA^ASL settle wi' a Higher Power, so I left him to his ain conscience, an' I can honestly say I never uttered a hard word against him, though I was whiles sairly tempted. Weel, we set up hoose in a bonnie wee cottage oot o' the toon, and though there wasna muckle in't, and though we had to coont every shillin' afore we spent it, we were as happy as the day was lang. Happy ! I never kent afOi.e hoo bricht the sun could shine, nor what a bonnie warld I lived in, till love cast a glamour ower it a'. I micht tell ye something aboot my man, only I daurna trust my tongue. Ye hae a man o' yer ain, an' if ye lo'e him, ye '11 ken what I thought o' mine. May- be we were ower happy, an' maybe had he been spared I micht hae forgotten that there was onything beyond this life ; an' so he was ta'en awa'. It was aboot three years efter we were mairret, and Tibbie, there, was just a sax-month bairn when I began to notice first that my man wasna weel. I canna linger on it, mem, ye '11 understand, I think, without muckle tellin'. He ailed for aboot a year ; but aye workit awa' for my sake an' for Tibbie's ; but at last he lay doon, an* for a twelvemonth I was the bread-winner for him, an' me, an' the bairn ; an* syne he was ta'en awa*. He left me wi' wordii o' hope an' comfort, mem," continued Mary Derrick, when she was again able to si)eak. " He telt me God wad tak' care u* me an' the bairn, until we ■':!! SYMPATHY. OK should meot again ; an* though whiles I hae been very near despairin', I hae never lost grip o* his last words. Efter it was a' past, I cam' into the toon, and workit on for the bairn an* mysel', — an* until thae hard times cam', I could aye mak' bite an' sup for us baith. But, as the time gaed by, work got scarcer an' scarcer, an* I 've come dooxi by degrees, till I had to flit here, an' I think it 's the air o' the TJndergate that 's killin' my bairn. Ye see she 's no lang for this warld. an' maybe when she 's ta en awa* the Almichty '11 hear my prayer, an' let me slip awa' up beside my treasures." Mary Derrick ceased speaking, and kept her eyes fixed on the fire, as if her thoughts were still with the past. The hard, bitter, miserable expression had gone from her face, leaving it so sweet and gentle that Adelaide West was struck by its beauty. Ay, verily, sympathy is good for the human soul ! " I need not say I am sorry for you, you must know it," said Mrs. West, laying a kind hand on the widow's shoulder. " I thank you for telling me your story. And now, will you allow me to make a sug- gestion ? I cannot think, with you, that your little girl is really so hopelessly ill. It seems to me that she only requires good food, and good nursing, and purer air to make her well. Have you ever heard of the Child reus Hospital in Dunleith, Mrs. Derrick ? " % i 1 tmm m THOMAS DUYBURGH's DREAM. ' I hao heard o' sic' places, whaur they experiment on puir folk," replied Mary Derrick, quickly. " But I wad never gang there mysel', ^or let my bairn gang." Mrs. West smiled a little. Mary Derrick had all a country woman's vague dislike and distrust of the public institutions of a large town — an aversion which nothing but actual experience of their bound- less benefits can dispel. " I do assure you, you are quite mistaken," she said gently : " I know a great deal about the Child- ren's Hospital, and I would willingly and gladly send an ailing baby of my own to it, if I had not the means or the power to make it well at home. I could procure an order for your baby's admission, if you will let her go. She would be treated with the utmost care and tenderness, and would have the advantage of the best medical skill" Still Mary Derrick shook her head. " I had my mind made up afore ye cam*, to write to my brither, an' ask him to let me come oot to the mill for a week or twa. I could vork for my meat, as I did afore, an' the fresh winds that blaw round the Girnel wad mak' my darlin' weel." "And suppose your brother should not answer your letter, or refuse to allow you to come ? " Mary Derrick glanced towards the child, beginning to stir a little in its broken slumber, and a quick sob broke from her lips. It was answer sufficient. SYMPATHY. m "Let us make a little arrangement, Mrs. Derrick," I said the minister's wife. ** If you have no answer from your brother within a week, come to the manse, and I will take you to see the Children's Hospital, so [that you can be satisfied before you trust your child Iwithin its walls." Mary Derrick raised grateful wet eyes to the kind face, and that eloquent look touched Adelaide West to the very heart. "There are some kind hearts left yet in this reary world," said the widow brokenly. " I *11 dae as je say, an' may the Lord bless ye, mem, ye are ane o' [is very ain." So the agreement was made, and idelaide West went her way to her own happy home, ler heart as light as air, because of the sunshine she lad infused into a life so much less blessed than icrs. i ot answer 111 m ii CHAPTER III. THE CHILDREN S HOSPITAL. #1 if AM afraid Mrs. Derrick must have heard from her brother, Robert, or she would surely have called before now," said Mrs. West to her husband one morning, about ten days after her visit to the dreary garret in the Undergate. * It is quite possible that the man may have repented of his harshness, and gladly acceded to her request., dear," replied the minister, rather absently ; for his mind was occupied by the plan of his dis- course for the following Sabbath morning". " 1 do hope so, and yet I scarcely think it," said Mrs West with a slight sigh. "Flossie, dear, make less noise, or I must send you to the nursery. Papa is busy, my pets." •'Nevermind, dear. Let them have their frolic, they don't disturb me," said the minister, with an indulgent smile at the two tiny fair-haired girlies playing bo-peep behind the draught-screen. 2H \ THi CHILDREN S HOSPITAL. 29 Tlie popular minister of St. Magdalene's Church never studied better than when his wife .and little I ones were in the room beside him, and was seldom too busy or too deeply engrossed to attend to them. He was almost boyish still in his love of fun and frolic, and yet there was not in all Dunleith a more earnest, hardworking, self-denying minister of the Gospel, nor one whose labours were more abundantly blessed. " Please, ma'am, there 's a woman in the dining- room wishing to see you," said a servant's voice in the doorway. ** She bade me tell you her name was Mary Derrick." Mrs. West instantly sprang up. " How curious, Robert, when we were just speaking of her ! Yes, Ellen, I will be down directly. Now, my darlings," she added to the children, " don't be too noisy while mamma is gone. Robert, will you come down in a little and see Mrs. Derrick ? I am sure you will be interested in her." " Yes, send Ellen when you w'sh me, and I will come," responded the minister readily, and his wife left the room. When she entered the dining-room, what was her astonishment to see not only Mary Derrick herself, but her child, closely wrapped in an old plaid, and tightly clasped in her arms. She was also much struck by tho change in the widow's face. It was even mor« i 6! '1 - I 1 ^H '■'■ 'I 'I 30 THOMAS DUYIUIUfJH S DHKAM. palo and bajj^ufard, atid tliero was a wildnoss in tlio eyo, wliicli socnicd to indicato somo iinuBual aujitalion of mind. "My poor Mrs. Derrick! How could you bring baby out on sucl) a bitter morning ? " exclaimed Mrs. West. " We wtu'o just talking of you, and wondering whether you had gone homo to your brother's. Como over to tlie fire, your lips are quite blue with cold." " No. I '11 no sit doon," said Mary Derrick hurriedly. " You were richt, an' I was wrang. It was a vain hope to think that there wad be a spark o' pity in my brother's heart. My bairn seems to bo waur, I think she 's gaun to dee. She can hardly get her breath ; so I cam', because you are the only freen' I hae in the wide warld, to see if ye wad tell me whaur that place is that ye telt me aboot. She micht be warmer and better there, and dee easier, for I hinna haen a tire in my garret since the day afore yesterday." Mrs. Weet looked inexpressibly shocked. •• You ought to have come before now, but wej will lose no time. It may not yet be too late to save your child's life," she said quickly. "Sit down at the fire, while I send for a cab and get on my| bonnet. I will go with you myself." Mary Derrick looked the thanks she could not I utter, and obeying the kind invitation to rest herself by the tire, sh»^ drew ucar«r to the grateful warmth THK ('IIIM)HENS HOSPITAL. 81 are nuite for tlio bloak Nov«;mber wind liad ponorratcd her poor tliln garments, and cliillod lior through and through. Mrs. West looked into the study on her way to her dressing-room, and wliih) slio liastily throw on her outer garments, her hushund went (h)wn to speak a word of hope and comfort to the forlorn and stricken heart downstairs. 15y tlio time Mrs. West was ready the cab was at the door, and tht3 two women, so differently jjlaced, ;ind yet drawn together by the common bond of motherhood and Christian s\ in[)athy, took their seats and drove away in silence. It was half-an-hour's ride to the hospital, which stood at tho other side of the town, beyond its busy .thoroughfares, on the slope of a gentle eminence facing the winding river. It was surrounded on every hand by tho trees, which had taken so kin'^V to the soil that they made quite a shelter and shatle for the house which had been a home indeed to many a poor child in Dunleith. It was a plain, substantial building, studded by many long, wide windows, upon which the wintry sun shone brilliantly, as if anxious to bestow all his light and heat upon tho Children s Home. A plain, iron gateway gave entrance to a wide gravelled path, which swept i round to the front door ; but there was a stretch of [grass sloping down to the river's bank, which was I wonderfully green for November, and which wa» If I h. 32 THOMAS DRYBUROH S DRKAM. actually dotted here and there with sturdy, pink- lipped go wans, which had not yet succumbed to the icy touch of King Frost. Mrs. West was well-known to the attendants at the Children's Hospital, and though it was not the usual hour for visitors, she and her charges were at once admitted and conducted to the matron's room. With what keenness did Mary Derrick's eyes dwell upon the sweet, kind face of the motherly woman in whose care her darling was about to be left ! " We are quite full, I fear, Mrs. West," said the matron, in a quiet, pleasant voice, which had a ring of refinement in it. " But if you will wait one minute, I will inquire. I think one of the little ones leaves to-day, and I should not like to refuse ycm.** Mrs. West nodded and smiled. The matron left I the room, but was not absent many minutes. " Yes, we can take the baby in. Let me see her, if you I please," she said, stepping towards the mother and the child. Without hesitation Mary Derrick unwound her shawl, and showed the wasted little form and| the pale, worn face of her little Tibbie. " Poor, wee thing!" said the matron with motherly! kindness. " She looks very poorly, but we will do| our best for her." Then she stepped to the belhropo and rang, al fiummoDff whi«;h wft» imTnediateh n>n«w«iF«d by »j THE CHILDHKNS HOSPITAL. 33 ir pleasant-faced nurse attired in a soft grey gown, a white apron, and dainty muslin cap. " Here is another charge for you, nurse," said the matron. " Doctor Hamilton has not gone, has he ?" " No, ma'am." " Ah, then, let him see her. Are they getting the cot in the west ward ready ? " " Yes, ma'am, it is quite ready." " That is good. Take baby with you.** Mary Derrick bit her lip till it bled, so great was the wrench at giving her darling up into strange hands. It almost seemed like desertion, she thought-, and yet these kind faces, and the whole air of the place inspired her confidence. " You can see your little one thrice a- week. The visiting hours are from two to six," said the matron kindly. " You had better leave your address, how- ever, and if the child should grow any worse we will send for you at once." " Mrs. Derrick lives at present in the Undergate, but it is likely she will remove from there," said the minister's wife. " To-morrow is a visiting day, I think, so she may be able to give you her address then." " Very well ; now I must bid you good morning, Mrs. West," said the matron smiling. "I am so busy I would need two heads and ever so many pairs of hands. Christmas will be upon us before we ;,( f; 3 i; i % {5 34 THOMAS DUYHriKJIf's DHEAM. know whoro we are, and before we are half ready for it." " Good morning ; but may I crave another favour?" said Mrs. West. " I think Mrs. Derrick would go away happy if she could see the place where her baby is. Would it be too much trouble ? " •' None at all," said the matron pleasantly. " If you will just sit down for a few minutes, I will send a nurse to show you the west ward." " Hoo d' ye ken a body's thochts sae wee! ? " asked Mary Derrick tremulously, the moment she was left alone with her kind fritnd. "I am a mother myself," was Adelaide West's answer. Then a little silence toll upon them, and the sunbeams stole in at the window and danced merrily on the walls and floor as if quite pleased with their morning's work. In a few minutes another nurse, just as comely and pleasant as the one who had taken away poor wee Tibbie, entered the room and asked them to accompany her, which they did, up a long flight of spotlessly clepi stairs, and along a wide corridor, where one would look in vain for any blemish or speck of dust ; and at the end of which the nurse opened a door and motioned them to enter. It was a large, light, pleasant place, with a large fire burning at either end, and there was an air of com- fort, of luxury even, about it which would strike a Stranger at once. The delicately tinted walls were II ,1, i 4 9yA il- """f'TllBllllllil*^ 111 m 11 DAiNIY LITTLE OOTd. " m iul(>rnc( |»i(;turc! u (iniii^ adding Tiicro swiiigiii lounges nono of tllCV W about ] rows of some 1' and otlj witli a so dilibi til at si absol'Jt* afraid t the swe bright ] "I V brocht almost i "Ste your cl Mary D ward, k TiiK cmF.rmKNs iiosimtal. 37 jidornotl by illiimiiiafiMl t,(\\ts and !>rii,'litly (MdouiHMl jiictun'S, jin>s if l]\tMV*B i\ |M»lo. iM'siiloR \\\wo kyo ^\^\' (illy 1mm»b. n\\' t\' \\\i> liooMo ^V[\v, h\\\ {\\o}\ thovoH tho wnnuiu horsol" \" Tlio \\\\\ov pml of llu» nl>oto pjuhmOi Thoiniw ntwA hwxAy \\\ Ins \A\tm to l\n-ll\or ino«li(ul<« \\\\o\\ iho mU>ii>»M \vln»0^ hi\\\ l>t>on onirvossitur Ium nil out ion for Rotno \\\\\o V-mAk. i\\\\\ \\\\w\\ \\o hi\\\ vow noivrly Rottlotl to Ins s!>tist"notion 'V\\o nonvj to wlnoh ho \mm\ bo lovitvijl) «n\«l longii\uly »nMonv«l jnst nu\i\'lh'.l with \m »nvn \t\\\yU ut \\w \\\\\\, \\\\\\ for yours Thonuvs Pryl»itr^:li hi\\\ oovoto»l l\is no\iv'R possossioi^s. iind lon^tMl to i\y\\\ tluMn to his own lh»t thoi\. i»s ho n>^rotf^llly nMnrtvKo*!. thoix* >V!ts tho >vot\uni horsoh*. inul tho only xvnv to oht.nn i^osst^ssion of hor «iosir»»hh^ holtMigings wrts t»» t.^Ko hor to tho huronin ! Trulv no woiuKm* \ho \\\ot\ sho\\\\\ ortuso Thon\{»s tho «hv|>ost thon}j;ht ! \\u\ \o\ sho w.vs rt oonu>ly. |>hM»srti\t. lovuhlo onongh ii;n\uv >vl\o hrt«l h;hl t\o Ij»oU of lovoi*s in ]\o?' yoijth, nor i\> hor tMinio oitluM*. hnt who for 8on\o iimvsimi or « ot)\or hi\\\ ohvtoJ t*> ixMnsvin sinjjlo wy to (his |>r<>sont {wwo. whon sho w.is t\ow sv>nunvhrtt yixM nnthllo hfo. "It wa^l Ih» an rtwt'n' oxpon.so." oontiiniotl tho nnllor. nttoriwjj his thoug)\t,s alvMh!. " \\\ woomoii ;viv ovtrrtvjiijjvnt orrtlni*s ; hnt nuuho I oonhl }<\n\o hi\v»k hi?r \n, an' it s a Ov>sy hij:>jin'. an' sho n\!un\ liao h\iUiUrs in (ho K-*nk ; I boliovc I'll risk i(.*' Ol>scrvo Tittr. nillNir.l, Mir.AI. Milt.. 4n lliitf 'riuMiiiin (iiil not, lulu* inlo m«m*oiiiiI, IIk* |inHHil)ilif,y of \\\m *riioil»iini n'fiiHii,^ (Im liniinm* of un (illiiuino willi liiiM. Living in nolihnlo. m lin did, lio liad but lilllo lunMvl«»dgf< nC (lio wjiyM of wonion, and liad ii \{\^\\o idnii IIimI nny wlm roinninod nniniirriod, did ro iMjily Im'imiiimo llii«y liiid novni* Iwid ii (diniicn lo pdI ill on llio Moii of ntaliinioiiy. 'raking up liift pniK^il Nl n^iiin. Iif» piMMMMM id i o inaKo a rnrt.l lor iMi IfMilat loll o f MisH 'riioi'lninrft iiKMinio and oxpniiHi^n, whinli provnd no NiiliHlaolory that. (Iio rdiadow, ImiI. oidy 'do nirrnnl inoHt glioFtlly Nliadow of a Hiniln (oiirluMi lor a iiionioiit litM long t.liiii \'\\m. " VoR, ril imK it." Iio ro|MM»,fnd, liindy. "It'll muK' an' odd« linrn tan, lor il, \h gny an' lanonoino lit niolilH, an' rIio 'II l»o a Itody |,o o llm ky« to no\\\{} dairy body, an' iJioro'H plniity room for lior l>il,H o' Inrnituro Ihmo." Having llnm nottlod tlin tnatiiT t.<» Inn own natin- fiioiion, TlioniaH l>i'yltnrgli loll. Honinwiial in<;linod to p) n()on lim courting orrand tlu^ro aiwl tlion d til hilt I ho niglit waH woaring laid, anar to 1)0 abating ; and, bunidoH, tlioro was no nood tor NUtdi iininodiato liiiHto. " Slio niiolit tbinU I 'in owor koon, an* if hIio bo liko oibor W(>oinon folk, hIio'II tbitdc nnioklo onougb o'liorsol'; iis it iH, 1 bad buHt bugiii aH 1 mouti tao ond." 44 T-ioMAs niivurur.ii s nur:AM. With this wise rofloction, tho millor ventured to give tlie sickly-hiokiiiii;' liro a careful poke, sur[)risin}j; it into a fo(4>le ikune ; tlion lie loimiMl hiiok in liis chair again, and gave h'lnsclf up to visions of the future, wlien the Jionsv face of Nancy Tliorhurn should he nodding to him across the hearth ; sentimental thouglits \yliich presently disapp(\ired in calculations as to how he could work Leerio Law clu^aply and to the best advantage. After a time, lunvever, his mind began to revert to other and less pleasant themes, whicli would not be set aside. In place of Nancy Thorburns comely face he saw another, that of a woman too, or rather a girl, sweet, and i^arnest, and wistful, lighted by two big grey eyes, which seemed to be looking with solemn pathos into his. It was the face of his sister Mary, the young sister he had so cruelly wroni^ed, and so vivid was everv feature that he almost started, thinking she was v.nitably before him in the fiesh. 13ut no, the kitchen was quite empty, unless it was peopled indeed by the shadows of the past, and there was no sound to be heard but the swaying of the elm boughs, and the wailing of the winter wind. Why should the pleading reproach- ful face rise up before him to-night, of all nights, when he had other and pleasanter things to dream of ? He grew quite irritated at length ; for instead of leaving him, these reproachful memories crowded thick and fast upon him, until he seemed to sit TIIK tJIHNKf, MF.AI, MllJi. sliivrrin^ ami coworinj^' arnonj^ t.lio pbatiiornR of otbor (lays. Slowly lio ]at,«!d tiin ^dowing firo for a littlo. Jor.k (UKikod his luft, r\hini;li. Miss Tl)o'l>»in), ointlnni;- wrniii; iil tlu> (Jinn^l ? ■Iiooti Niuw'v Is tl »<)( No. I want to 800 voiso ) r. if }(» pioaso, rop lio.l ainmas. " Wool. p\nix room] to \ho l>aok .\rtO(^kl.M' (MiwikI that, brim's yo t*> Loorio Law on si(> a niolit, MaistcM* nrvhuvijli," sai.l Ts'anoy, as tlio niilh^', in ros|u>nso to 1 lor nw'talion, s{o]>]>(^»l aoross tl\o tlm^slu^ld. " Tjvk' alV yor oojit, SCO, an' yor liat, an' lung tluMn np tluM'(\" As rocards lior bouso, Nanoy was a tlioronirh old ni iiiti, it was a roal irriof io hov to so(^ a noodi (^SS dirtyin', whioh was a tavonvito cxprossioi. of hors. Tho niillor obovoil, rnbbod bis foot woll on tb(» mat, and was tbon permit tod to stop into tbo bonni(\ brigbt, ]\oartsomo kitobon,, wbioh was tbo cosiosi cornor in all tbo bouso at Locrio Tiaw. " Tak' tbe warm seat, Mr. Dryburgb," said Naiuy cordially, lor tbough sbo boartily disliked tbo milKn-, she could not be unkind to a living tbing. •' No. I 'm lino liere," said tbo miller, and sat down in the arm-chair, in which N Aucy 8 I'atb er. Till: Mil, I III M WiiniNcl. •t M\ll(n oM Piniil TlinrlHirn. Inxl Itoc?) wnni, (o hU, l^rl'Tt' ||(« IcM lIlJM Wolltl lor II iM'thT W lull M tliM '■■ I III tit r \\i" lilt' Io'mmI / " lie iiMlvctl. I'tir iil HJifJil ul liini ,1.11 K lli'tl lr"iii lii"^ sinni, Mild willi Itiu'K iiikI liiil ciiMif, \\!»s spill iii'^ Ml liim iViMii iimlcr llio IiiMp. Niujcy il( u It'll slriivnif^r jitwcoii iIm^ (liniol mi" I-iM'ric l/!i\\." " ll. wiiM nil lliiil 1)11(1." rrplif'il ilit> tiiillrr niflirr llUIH'lv, r<»l' snin('||(>\V lln' lllillL' wllirll Ililll Hr»'HI(Ml Rf) a ciisv Mild siiii|»l(> Ml iIm! (tinirl lircKidn, assiiMind vcrv dilViMciil MMjMM'l. Ii(ir(h An awkward HilcifK (MisikmI. Nmih'y WMJiiiii^ In l»«> ciili^liioiiod ni<^fanliiij( Ihc ()l»in'l, nl' tilt' iiiillor'.s visil. Slio waK i^^roatly nivslilicd. nol, only wfl,li iIk^ visit, itsolf, to iM'^rin wit.li, hut witli tlio a|»|t(?arafi('(» of I, Ik; niillor, wlio liad not, Inokcid so wisp liko lor niany a day. I lo liad on a now siii; <>l'i;!My lionios|tnn, Miid actnally a wliil*' <;olIar, and )i iKiw ncM'klic, and liis jjcard was nowly trinini(;d, and Ills iiiiii' nictsly brusliod. W'liat, on oartli did it all nn-an ? "Vo'vo a cosy in,L,d«!-n(3iik hc^ro, Nan(3y," lio Raid ;it, lon<'lh. t'«M'linir lliat, lio must nuik»! s(»ni(j kind of H'L'iiininuf, I liao nao rcanon Uj c3onn»lain oM, 'I'turunuH," wr»M '^'i>iu:y'« brief rvply. St Tiio^iAs nuvnrnon s i»kmam. Kin' o* l.'nw'sonio tlioitufl), is 't, no. I'nr a uinnnn l>o(lv Mdin' li(>r l!»n(> r* ho nnrsncMl, uTiilliprinuf <'<>nrM«x<>. '" MmvIk' lor soni(» woonion folk, Ixit, I 'ni never f.isbrd \\\i\\ way ; I \\',w u\\ wjirk. an' plonly neolmrs whou 1 wjnil tluMM. Il 's I'olks' jiin I»l inn<' ! Ill llniikin', whou tlioy fool lanosoiiio or ilisooiilonlod, \hovo s i\\o soukM liiiii*' wriiiii^^ wi* 1 li(Mrs(«lN."' siiid Nancy, U^okin*;' flu* iiiUKm* slr.'iit,dil, in tlio faco, for hIio was sp«\akinL:; o( hiiu, as woll as to liiiii. " Av. av. I lH^li(»V(» vo *ro riclit./' fiaiM lli(» niillor; aiul tlion (lioro was anotlior o s (1 iin^s iiiuiu un V i\y l>v ? sai< 1 N aiK 'y «it. lon^ili.. " Miildlin'. jisl. niiddlin', I 'in i^ollin' abool, liriMJ o' my way o' da no liiv erow vt^l in tin* f 10 No, at, loast Ui. >' this whil(\" ho said a trillo ooniusodly ; l\)r the dark ovos h(Mit unllinohinu'lv on his laiM* sooiiumI to road his inmost sou 1. iiv» oan guoss, 1 suppose what "s br<>cht mo horo tho uioht, Nanoy ?" ho said in dosjXM'atirn. for tho convorsation must ho turned awav iVom the subjoct of his sistm-. "No, 1 "m iist waitin' ti> bo tolt. As vo 'ro no a nooborly man tor ordinar', 1 suppoKO yc want some- thing, or yo wAdna bo hore/* n TIIK MILIJ'lllH W(MMN(1. 09 " Vn iiro riclil, N/iriry, I diiiiut wmmIo my tirjin rliisliin' ill l<»lkH' Iihokom, vvluil(m my IfiiriH. \\\v\, I 'v(» Immmi lliiiikirr lw[i tJiroo tliifi^^s «»vv«'r Uhh wliilio, iin' I ,») ha7,I».n^ for H niiiiy day, nn' yn knii iJm (iirnn! 'h my ain. If yn 'II t^roo. Naticy," ImmmmiIjiiikmI Hpnakiii^'' faslnr and with f^M*('iil.(T oaj^^nrnnsH an lin warmnd to liin Kiil»j«(;t., " I 'II inuk' yo a (Ninny man. I 'm Kiir(5 wo nnnld y>ij; jiJnnj^ lino t.li(\L,^nil,linr, alt.liuii;^di wo 'ro l>ail,li nwnr aiJJ t,o inak' fiiloH o' (kh'K(!Im." NaiHjy 'riiorlmrn firHf, sank l»aok in Ikt nliair in lioIpk'SH astofUHlimont,, and ilion aH lio proonndnd, and liiH inoanin;^ bc^an aotnally to dawn upon lifir, sfio sat u[) vory straifdit, and t,horo was a vory p«;ou- liar cxprossinii on lior faoo. "Tak' timo aforo yo aiiswor, Nanoy," said tlio rnillfir quietly. " Yo 'ro a HoriHiblo wuirian, an' J 'ifi sum yo'U SCO t,]in advisahoolity o' iriy propf)saI. It's a quato firosido at the Girnol, an I 'vo oftc^n thocht I wad liko a wuinan body in tbo }if»os(!." " Lord liolp lior, wbaovor sho bo ! " foil fcrvontly from Nancy's lips, a remark wliicli cansod 'i'fiornas Dryburgh to look at hor inquirin;,dy. Somoliow the boiinio sonsy faco was changed. The srnilo was i, 54 THOMAS DRYBURGHS DREAM. gone, the sunny gleam had vanished from the dark eyes, and they gleamed upon him fearless, cold, and stern. " What div ye say, Nancy ? I 'm no that ill. ' Gie a dog a bad name,* they say, — ye ken the rest. I hinna haen a chance," he said almost humbly, for the advantages of his proposal to himself were very obvious. " Did I hear ye richt ? ye askit me to mairry, didna ye, Tammas Dryburgh?" said Nancy presently. ** Ay, I am askin' ye. I 'm in earnest, Nancy." " So am I ; ye said richtly that / was ower auld to mak' a fule o' mysel'. What div ye tak' me for, Tammas Dryburgh ? " Tammas was silent. The question was not encouraging. Slowly Nancy _ rose to her feet. " I micht be angry if it wad dae ony guid," she said quietly, but with a ring of indignation in her voice. " I didna ken I had gien ony evidence o' bein* cot o' my seevin senses, which I wad be if I listened to your otter. So 1 11 bid ye guid nicht, Maister Dryburgh, wi' mony thanks for your trouble." "Wull ye no tak' me, Nancy?" asked the miller helplessly, rising from his chair. " Tak* ye ? — no. No though I should hae to beg frae door to door. I ken ye ower weel, Tammas Dryburgh. Ye ken hoo ye treated that dear lamb, THE miller's wooiNa. o yer sister Mary. I hinna forgotten it. I ken weel eneuch it 's my siller an' my gear an' Leerie Law ye 're efter, no' me. But I 'm no donert yet. I ken when I 'm weel aff, an' as lang as I can get my bite an' my comfort at my ain fireside, it 's no likely I 'm gaun to sterve at the Girnel," said Nancy, speaking very fast, for she was much agitated, and her fingers shook as she lighted the candle to show her unwelcome suitor to the door. " Ye '11 maybe think better o't," said the miller, in no way disconcerted. " It disna dae to hurry wcemen folk in sic maitters. Weel, I '11 jist be stappin'. Guid nicht, Nancy. I '11 maybe look ower some nicht neist week." " Deed ye needna," said Nancy, quite snappishly for her. "Gang hame, Tammas Dryburgh, an' sit doon by yer meserable hearth, an' try an ca' up a' the folk ye hae wranged wi' greed an' hardness o' heart The auld year 's very near dune, an' ye dinna ken whether ye may live to see the new ane in. Ask God's mercy for your sins, an' syne dae what ye can to repair them. That *11 set ye better nor seekin* a wife. Guid nicht ; may J be forgi'en if I 'm ower hard upon ye, but I 'm no' able to stand sic a thing frae you at my time o' life." Feeling very peculiar indeed, Thomas Dryburgh put on his coat and hat and stepped out into the rain. Recovering himself on the doorstep he turned 56 THOMAS DRYBURGH's DREAM. and looked into the sonsy face which expressed her mingled indignation and anger. Was it to express his regret, or to tender an apology for the mistake he had committed ? not quite. " Guid nicht, Nancy, yer birse is up," he said calmly. " If ye should think better o 'd ye can let me ken." Nancy Thorburn so far forgot herself as to bang the door and push in the bolt with an angry hand. Then she hurried back to the kitchen, and sinking into her own chair gave way to a burst of hysterical laughter, which finally ended in a "guid greet." CHAPTER VI. THE DREAM. i'HE miller trudj'Gcl throucfh the rain to the Girncl, feeling that he had made a mis- take. Courting a wife was not quite so simple a thing as he had imagined, and as Nancy Thorburn had spoken with unmistakable decision, he feared that the cosy homestead and the fertile acres of Lcerie Law were not for him. Well, he was but where he was before, and yet as he stepped across the threshold of his dreary home, and entered the big cold kitchen, he heaved an involun- tary sigh. There was a difference betwixt Nancy Thorburn' s fireside and his ; was it due to the mere fact of a woman's presence ? Nay, there were many other things besides that lacking in the Girnel. He had " gathered " the fire with a lump of coal and a shovelful of dross before he went out, and it was still smouldering dimly, though giving forth neither light nor heat. He was loth to break it up, however, for it might last till morning if left undisturbed. 67 ■\n AH TiioM v^ l^^{vu\•^i^;n s i»Kr rn. «ionnoil ilu' old oroon «>no will) l)\o lon-v inils wliidi WiM^ ^ tilt' 1;\ii<'li ol (ho «'«>tin(rv sii rhnr olo^i^ to (ho loiuh'v. nn UTtchsMi, (hf .InK n<^ oi wlii.'li sooiot^l .>tilv ni;\tlo \iml^io h\ (h* vonlih. h'lt, whnl 0;^^'' with 1 (h Ah. no ; uouo o\ thoso \\hit(^ \\in>:(''l augols s]>ro;i»l iluMr winv'^^ nh«>V(^ tln^'ooT tro(^ ol' the (livnol. M.nn stran^o nn\vont<^(i tlionolus tool 1 OSSOS* noss \v iion of hint ns lio sj^t iIum'o ; tho k<"'n hv th<^ sol0(>k whirh now lav dns(-b(^- gTimod and inoth-oaton on tho sliolf, nii^' their chauviv.'; in Ins nnwillins:- oars. 'lnii; nin \M. r»!» Vc nnntnl rcivp ilnA nii Ihh nwtl snllP If Tl wnrtllULJ n\M n| (linMC l tlUxinllM IlinliMM' IiihI SllivcM In 'mi|il!llll, ill lIlM lii'inl. ol Ikm' I»«»v. n'liriit;.,^ I'mI Ihm rutliciH }.frr»Ml of 1^,'mM rIxdiIiI (MM'Iinitj Ihiii lilscwi'^p, Miti[( in TlinnmH I MvIhii-hIih niiM. ^MMwiriL^ (Miiilcr iumI rniiilcr mm iIio (iiMWsinosM of Hlrcp li(M^riMi !'» «'i(r'|i over liiiii. Iln |(miihm1 luM'k il) liiH rliiiir, liis IuiimIm Idl mi liis kricf s, nml Ihm Ii'Im «lrM|i|t(M| nver lti« icsIIi'KH ryoH. Ari(| ilhM' a. jn'»tM(>nt. il, HcfttHH I to I nil iiMi. II. tiiini w hit, n YvM 1 H^t^nni to stcnl into I he |)liiro, nis|M'llin[^ il gloouiv slindowM, riinl tJicii ho \v\\, ji linn hill, ^cnllo toii(x|tn'HHion of roprofirhCid .^}ldnoMR, ImmiI soarciiinj^dy npoii hin own. Il<> tried t'» ihrniir, hut the ircnHo touch ^row (inner, nud the eyes look- uvjr into hiw had ii touch of coininanil in their depthM which coniitcUed him t,o ohey. So he roso unsteadily to his \'vv.t, and then the kitchen Kcenierj to fade diill yel cIoko lir-jivy if Ml away, and m ]>iac.o oi iiie i atinos|)lKn'o which was never |mrifie(l hy the t'roo air of hoavon. ho IVdt tl io cool nil' ht, d 1.1 wind play njjon nis h ^^^^ \\h^\\\-'f \^\}\\\\'\\\\\\ ^\ \\\\t'\\^. «»tMl l\\\ \ ^\ ^o » liMlil- W I Mt^^"^^ M\\\ ^hvU' >\ ««v\o»M '\^\^\ '>A S\ \) \ "t w w o\\ I.I r-'T nln U \'s\^ ;« U \ \o S;\ w tl\«> rln-imnsi jool'q ol il»i' t^UoK:^^\. NVUU im V^^">^K* »^r *Mnl\ino rnn\ plr^'i^i MhM\;J HUMU 1 l\,< < \)\\^A '.\\\\\ I I'rrii' I -\\\ ^\U \^\ A !*hou R^^t^o«M^1 inno llh'>5»' Wi'ip Irli in ll\p In «^^w vt\«Nn \M ^i^^V !«^>nj;"«'> t:Uvn\» K nn\ ^^ NVI n wMiv \\ •>•: n\o nv\^ii.' n>i-«i \ rni \\\\'\ I >i» 1l \)> x^Ut^^U^^n. b\\< sh,> -i^lonri^l lnn» b\ •» niontnlnl mUmK** )^)S>Kt"' nx^ Hnot>^ \\M\?!X\ 1\M t1lx^\ N>^MN^ !\)^)M^v^^Mnn^ \\\o ronlinoM ol o «.»\\ \ ho w uli> .1. n\!.M \ i\ U I V i\ ifcVi^xVfUi .«i)NnV ,M ;» \i\\\ y\\\\\\\W\ sl:»IK, tn\«l t»4 tlh'V «i.;VAs.iV: 1\s*^iW tn'sl fii^^o snwi^ \\w\ hx\u\\\ tl\oir fliolu IMf; IMilrAM. II ||m 1 1 1 iiililiiti'l V t"|>li"'i, iliiil ' il, tutmi'\\\tn\ ih I.I iiiiiii'ti I •Ultlcit II Till' ^lll•«l«M•H|',•'^ *iM(|(|( (| (»f(iv«'lv. "'•'! '•" 'It^'V mhth tnMt t Ii|l>l'l|\ tlll.H*' lIlH f'iMII fill',' ll/MMIII f't lfl'l|'< • (I |.||iii| tli'ft »|| UMlil ill"; |i"(i|ilft»ri|l "II I'Miii"!. 'I'll" liii|il"»i h'lm ill" |iiilil(" v("vv A Will, li.ilil 'ilii'ij ftjijt'Mi'Ml l\ I'V •!"»•!" (KviMiM" liMn|i, f"ll MlMilt \\ IimI •!I"I||"i I III (it'l Im Ii I" M h"Mll "I ''(ffl" tliiiii", litil ulii"li lit" v<>ui\i I'liui (nilf"r (•f'''"filly iliMi'i'i •i"il In lii'lw'i (liil'li"h (I'iMily i\niitii\ in r/i/fi .III I") M (Mill'! IHMJ ll|i(i'l» "Ml I V «l'i|"»<|i III"'/ \'/"r" M» KliiM •l||M"|l'f)M ll(lll"':i| mImI I I"'1M. |wi"f lilll" fifiil* Ifl/N, «•) "i)i'l(iii!» «'l"'!" |ii|^i"l|)"» I" Mlihiin \vli!il IiIIIm l("rif, llii'V Miiiiltl liiiin "iM'li n(|("r 'I'lif* lilll*' liMfo ff'f'f, ii>'!liii|» Mi'Mill'il lliM ••"Id \v"l lldf^'t wf" roiij/lt nri'l iliMiMilmiU'il. iiii'l »iM" IiihI Hfi iit;ly 'i)»'»fi vjintml Idro'l iiiii nil II 1 It" ""III I'linlttltM hi yl'ltli'lt Mltl\"l"'! MM II" |o'i|'"«| "<) rliiiiilii.. I lit t'ltiiM i I lliMil: I 'II <\(st> wi' lliM iMiiilil I " itttiM" i"il ill" vi»i(ii|i;"i of (IimI, jiitifiij \ifin , llirii IiIh <'tiiii|iititi"it iMM". iiinl ♦jtkiiii/ oH fiin tiwft iiiiMi>iiililt» jiH'lxol, \vin)i|»"(| if, r«iini'l liiH hrofli'ir, lliiiii|»li IiIm nwii (""ill wi'iti o<,l^ 04 THOMAS DRYBURGII'S DRFAM. features, for they seemed strangely familiar. Ay, once these thin cheeks had been round and red, once these pale lips had rivalled the bloom of the cherry, once these shadowed eyes had been bright as sun- shine. On the little low bed a child lay moaning as if in pain. After listening to it for a little the woman rose, and lifting it in her arms, began to croon a low song, which had no music in it, but only the wail of despair. And yet that sweet voice had been wont to trill as noisily and clearly as the lark uprising to the morning sky — but that was long ago. " The morn, my bairn ie, we '11 hae something to eat and drink," she whispered as she laid the hushed child back on the weary pillow ; then she went to her work again until every buttonhole was made, and every button in its place. Folding it up, then she laid it aside, and taking a half-sheet of paper from the mantel began to write. Even from where he was Thomas Dryburgh could read the trembling words she penned. What was it she wrote ? Words of reproach or bitter upbraiding such as he deserved ? No, no, — " Dear brother." Were these two simple words not an awful mockery of his pain ? He tried to dart forward, but again he was resolutely withheld. ** Let me gang ! " he cried fiercely. " It *s my ain sister ! It 's Mary ! Let me gang doon on my knees till her ! Let me gang ! " " T©o lftt« I " fell yet inor« nn^ly from the m«sRei>' THE DREAM. 60 ger's mournful lips, as she slowly pulled him away. He struggled desperately, but in vain. Then the whole scene vanished, the clasp on his arm relaxed, and he opened his eyes. The fire was out ; the candle at its last gasp on the mantel. The old clock in the corner rang twelve. Thomas Dryburgh rose to his feet, rubbed his eyes, and looked about him. He was at his own fireside in the Girnel kitchen, — and behold, it was a dream. CHAPTER VII. THE AWAKENING. ^f I'i HAUR'LL the miller be gaun tlie day?" said the station-master to Robbie Wilson, the postman, when he brought down the mail-bag to the eight o'clock train for the North. " The miller ! whaur is he ? " queried Rob, squint- ing with his only available eye along the platform. " There he is, mun, jist at yer back ; wheesht ! " said the station-master, stifling a laugh, as Rob in his haste and confusion turned round and knocked up against the miller. Contrary to his expectation, Thomas Dryburgh did not growl or swear at him, but only said quietly, ** Cauld mornin', Rob," and passing out of the little shed, sauntered, hands in pocket, along the platform. " Whaur did he tak' a ticket till, Geordie ? " queried Rob, in an intensely interested voice, for he was consumingly fond of news. "Dunleith." (36 -. THE AWAKENING. C7 " There *s something up. When did ye see Tammas wi* a clean collar on afore ? " " Is this a corn market at Dunleith ? " " No, it 's on Fridays. There 's naething to tak* Tammas Dryburgh to the toon the day that 1 ken o', I thocht maybe ye wad ken." *' No, but I '11 sune find out. I '11 tell ye what I think. It '11 be something to dae wi' Mary," said Rob, with a peculiar knowing twist of his ill-favoured countenance. " It 's, lat me see, mair nor a month syne I cairrit a letter to the Girnel, and the writin* was unco like Mary Dryburgh's." " Ay, it '11 jist be that. Wad it be ill news, I wunner? There hasna been a cheep aboot Mary Dryburgh heard in thae pairts sin she mairret the English lad ; but nae news, they say,'s guid news." "So they say. The miller's a wee dowie like, div ye no think ? He was unco canny for him this mornin'. It 's no often ye get a ceevil word frae him." " Yer richt ; — but there she 's comin*. Tammas is the only passenger the day, seemin'ly. We needna ring the bell for him. Is thon the minister runnin* fit to break his neck ? He 's a shuffle-katie o' a cratur, aye ahint," said the station-master, and then, — oh, for the hypocrisy of human kind, — turned to touch his hat to the minister, and to assure him blandly that he was in good time. Then the train puffed in with a great shriek and bang, the miller jumped into I ■! 68 THOMAS DRYBURGH S DREAM. ,[ [i t .1 a third-class compartment, the minister into a first, and off she went again without losing a minute. There was little time lost either at any of the inter- mediate stations, for passengers were few and far between. But in another week trains and officials alike would be groaning under the burden of the holiday traffic. Dunleith was reached at ten minutes past ni^;e, and even that big station, where so many lines converged, presented rather a bleak, deserted appearance. It was a raw, damp, disagreeable morn- ing. Snow had fallen on the previous day, and being followed by a partial thaw, the streets were covered with a mixture of mud and slush. A thick fog hung low over the river, and was disagreeably felt in the town. In the windows of warehouses and offices the gaslights flickered still, the daylight being of the dullest, dingiest kind. The streets were lively enough, however, for men of business and their clerks alike were hurrying to their work. In the principal thoroughfares shopmen were beginning to dress their windows prior to the exodus of the ladies at noon. It seemed to the miller that Dunleith must have overslept itself; every one seemed to be in such a hurry, even the errand-boys resisting the temptation to look in at the confectioners' and toy-shop windows, which were all gaily decked for Christmas time. At a crossing the miller spied a policeman leisurely pacing up and THE AWAKENING. 6d down, and looking as if nothing in the world could or would ever put him in a hurry. Guessing riglitly enough that this individual could give him any information he required, Thomas marched up to him. " Cauldish mornin', freen'," he said civilly. "May- be ye could tell me whaur the Undergate is, could ye? " A3^ that coot she ! " answered Donald, with ready Highland politeness. " It pe doon there, see, and syne alang py ta railway prig, till she comes to ta watter. Then ony pody '11 tell her whaur it pe efter that." " Miickle obleeged," said the miller, and then as Donald was looking very significantly at him, a look which seemed to remind him rather pathetically that it was near Christmas, he actually produced three coppers, which the defender of the peace acknow- ledged by a broad grin, and a very hearty " Thank her, kindlv.** Then the miller trudged off to follow Donald's somewhat vague directions as best he might. After w^alking a little distance, he reached the railway arch, which seemed quite familiar to him, though he was positive he had never been there in the flesh. His dream, however, was very fresh in his memory, and when he stood beneath the arch he turned aside to the quiet corner under the wall, almost expecting to see the little ragged laddies clasped in each other's arms. But if they had ever been there, they were 70 THOMAS DRYBURGH's DREAM. i i I . . I * gone now, and, abusing himself for his foolish fancy, he proceeded towards the river. Meeting a messaga- boy at the corner of a narrow lane, he inquired for the Undergate, and was directed to go to the other end of the lane, and then ♦urn to the right, and he would find himself in it. With heart beating a little faster, Thomas Dryburgh gave the lad a copper, and hastened down the lane. When he turned to the right and saw the long narrow, squalid thorough- fare, with the crazy-looking houses on either side, the dirty, dingy, little provision shops, and the flaring gin palaces, he felt a trifle eerie, for it was down this very street his mysterious guide ha ! led him in his dream. Strong, robust countryman though he was, the close, heavy air, reeking with foul fumes and noxious vapours, almost sickened him. How did the hundreds who knew no other habitation live, and breathe, and have their being in such a place ? Ay, well might he ask himself the question, and think with longing of the free winds and the fresh, pure airs blowing about the Girnel. He dared not pursue the thought further, and ask how his sister supported existence here. No ; it was too bitter and heart-probing a question. He took out his pocket-book and carefully read the address on the scrap of paper which had providentially escaped the fate of the letter itself. 319 were the figures, so he went slowly up the middle of the street, keeping THE AWAKENIXa n count of the numbers on either side, an object of curiosity and remark to such as were abroad at that hour. At last, near the farther end of the thorough- fare, he reached the low doorway with the figures painted above it, but almost illegible. A slatternly woman, with unkempt hair, unwashed face, and arms akimbo, stood on the step, surveying the well- dressed stranger with all the curiosity of her kind. " Mistress, could ye tell me if there 's a weedy- wuman ca'd Mary Derrick bidin' up this stair ? " he asked, addressing himself to the matron, who only shook her head. " No that I ken o*. I 'm no lang here. My guidman 's been oot o' wark for twa month, or ye niay be sure we wadna be bidin' in sic an ill hole," she answered, with a dignity which was quite out of keeping with her appearance. " Eh, what does the man want, Kirsty ? " queried another shrill-voiced virago, of strikingly similar appearance, emerging out of the dark recesses of the entry. " He *s seekin* ane Mary Derrick," said Kirsty, elbowing aside to let her neighbour have half the doorway. " Derrick, oo ay ; a white-faced, genty kin' o' body, wi' ae bairn ; is that the wuman ye *re seekin' ? " " Yes," said the miller, eagerly ; " does she bide here yet ? ** r 72 THOMAS DIlYIJURGllS DREAM. "No; she loft nearly a month ago," said Jean, settling herself against the lintel, prior to giving and receiving news. " Ony frocn' ? " *' Yes, she 's a relation o' mine," was all the satis- faction Thomas Dryburgh gave. "Can ye tell me onything aboot her ? " " Deed, very little ; she wasna a neeborly body ava'," said Jean, with a toss of her head. " She cast her heid owcr high. She micht be better nor the rest o' ns, but she hadna mucklo to show for 't, ana she was goyan hard up, whon she couldna pay a shillin' a-wook for the soothmost ij^arrct." Thomas Dryburgh's face fell ; was he indeed too late after all ? *' Then ye canna tell me onything aboot her," ho said, hopelessly. " Naething, exceptin' that she 's awa'," said Jean, looking as if she rather relished the answer she could make. The miller turned rather dejectedly away from the door, but before he had gone many steps, a voice called him, and a thin weary-faced little woman, with a heavy baby in her arms, came up to him. ** I heard ye speirin' for Mrs. Derrick, sir," she said, in a quiet, listless voice, which made one think the spirit had been all knocked out of her, ** I canna tell ye muckle aboot her ; but I ken ae thing, her bairn 's in the Children's Hospital cot at Parkside. THE AWAKENINO. 73 TliG ministor'a wife got it in. Maybe they could tell ve whaur tho mother is." Thomas Drybiir^h's face brightened. " I 'm certainly obleoged till ye, mistress. Whaur did ye say the place was ? " " Parkside. It *s a bittie frae here, but you'll sune gang. May I mak* bold tae speir if ye are ony frcen* ? I often wondered wha she belangcd tae. She wasna toon bred onyway. She took sae ill wi* the Under- gate. Ye see she was my neebor on the stair-heed, an' though we hadna rauckle trock, she was the best an' kindest neebor I ever had, an' I was aye vext for her." There were tears in the poor worn eyes of the weary mother as she uttered these words, and some- how the miller felt an unwonted dimness to^ich his own. " I 'm her brither, mistress," he said, readily enough. *' Thenk ye for yer information. There 's something for the bairn." As he spoke, he slipped a half-crown into the woman's hardened palm ; a proceeding which was jealously noted by the two stout viragoes in the entry door, and who, thereupon, fell to abusing their meek-faced neighbour in no measured terms. It was a good hour's walk from the Undergate to Parkside, so that it was about noon when Thomas Dryburgh reached the gates of the Children's Hospital, 'I 13 74 THOMAS DKVIU IHJH S DIMAM. ii m How plonsnnl i( wuh out, how, ho muM not Ijp1|i tlunlviiijy ; \\h',\\ ii u:n»f(»rnl clnin^o iVom tlio inisornblo, R(]niili«i, iin\vliol«'S(»ino stnuMn wliioli iVingcMl llm rivor. 'Vho mist \Vi\s t';ist «lis!\|ipiMnini; iimlor tho ^oiiiiil rayM ot' tlio sn!\. wliii'l* slioiK* l^riirlilly an ii.mial on tl)o \vin«lo\vs ot' tli<» Clnl'lriMi'H Homo. W ihoro was Hnn anywlioro. it was suro to sliino bright ('st, ami longost tlu i ; f ihaj's it \o\oi\ t1)o plao(\ 'I'Ijo nnllnr I'cU, som^ 'iifU liositation as Ins ting<>rM tonoliod \ho sinning hoV: ^an«llo ; tins was altoootlior a iumv oxporionoo tor liim, ami ho wontlorcd at hia own courau<^ and |HM'sov(Manoo. A trip-. jnai rnillrr, red Inccd jumI a\vkwn,r(. I'nkiii^', waH umIiohmI into \\vr pn>srti(3n. Slio lookj'd at, hirri k(MMily, sunnisitig tliiit, lio was tlicj . ((Mkt of Mary Derrick, fur Mih. Wrst, liud tolc^ lior Homo, tlioiigh not all, of tlio young vvidow'.s history. " Y(^s, itiotu ; I waH U)\t hIio was lioro. l»ut it's tho Tuitlior I want mair partcuklcrly to koo. I'm hor britluT ; my nauio is Tliomas I>ryl)urgli." "Wo liavo tlio littlo one licro ; but wo cannot take in tho motlicrs as well, though somo of them would fain .stay," said tlio matron wit,h a smilo. " I am sorry I cannot toll you where Mrs. Derrick is to befouml. I know sho lias ]<'ft hor old residence, and that the clergyman's wife who brought her and her baby here, has obtained a situation for lier. But to-morrow is visiting day, and she never fails to put 75 76 THOMAS DRYBURGI[*S DREAM. ;| i I II in an appearance. If you oould call about five, you would be quite certain to see her." " Ye see, mem, I 'm frae the country, an* I wad need to bide in Diinleith a' nicht in that case," said the miller, scratching his head. " Well, I could give you the address of the clergy- man's wife, who knows where your sister is," said the matron, kindly. "Thenk ye; but I'll just bide till the morn," said the miller, who had faced quite enough strangers already. " I 'm jist troublin' ye, bit if ye wad let me get a glint o' the bairn, I wad be muckle obleeged. Is she no' weel ? " " She was, but she is mending every day. The wards are in great confusion, for to-morrow is Christmas Day, you know, and we are having an entertainment for the children," said the matron. " But, I daresay, you won't mind." Thomas Dry burgh had only a very vague idea of what a ward was, and certainly did not expect the sight which met his view, when, at the end of the long corridor, Mrs. Carnegie opened the door of the western ward and he saw the long, wide, high- ceiled room, with its row of dainty cots on either side ; he looked overwhelmingly surprised. * " Bless me, what a heap o' bairns, an* what a braw place," he ejaculated. " It '11 tak' a mint o* money to keep up a place like this." TIBBIE. 77 " Ay, it docs, but we have always cnoucfh and to spare. Nobody rjriidufcs to give for such a i)uri)ose," said tlio matron. " Of course, you kn(»w it is kept up by voluntary subscriptions." " No, I didna ken. Eh, there 's a white faced wee Gallant ! " he said, looking compassionately at a little lad lying wearily back among his pillows, his face as white as they. "Ay, poor Willie, ho will never be well until he reaches the better Children's Home," whispered the matron softly. " Come and see your little niece, she is at the other end of the ward." " This '11 be the Christmas tree for the morn ? " said the miller, as they pissed the big fir-tree, which was being decorated by such of the children as were able to be out of bed, while those in the cots looked on with eager interest. " Yes, all these toys came in yesterday, free gifts from the Sabbath scholars in Dunleith," said the matron, pointing to two big hampers filled with all sorts of pretty things. *' There are the same in the other three wards, so we will have a good time to- morrow. Here is your little niece. Well, Tibbie, how are you this morning ? Are you going to speak to the gentleman who has come to see you ?" The fragile looking little girlie, sitting up in her cot with her iijolden curls fallinc: like a halo above her little pink gown, smiled at the matron's kind (I m 78 THOMAS DRYBURGU'S DREAM. salutation, and gravely nodded her head in response. "Shake hands with him, then," said Mrs. Carnegie, and instantly one pale, white hand was offered to the miller, who laid it on his own brown palm, and looked at it with a very curious expression on his face. *' Are ye verra no-weel, my dawtie ? " ho asked in a queer, husky voice. *' No, I *m better now," piped the shrill, sweet, childish voice. " Isn't this a nice place ? See the Christmas tree." How like to her fair mother she was when that smile, that eager look came upon her face ! It seemed to Thomas Dryburgh that the years rolled backward, and he saw his baby sister playing about the Girnel, and himself a big uncouth halflin lad watching her with amused curiosity. And yet there was a look of her father about her too, a glint of the sunshine which made her doubly dear to her mother's heart. " You see Tibbie is well cared for, and coming on nicely ; in another month she will be running with the best of them," said Mrs. Carnegie. " Well, Mr. Dryburgh, I am afraid I must send you away, for it is just the children's dinner hour, and we will bo in the way." "A* richt, Guid-bye, Tibbie, lassie. D'ye ken << i TIBBIE. 70 I' what a sax pence is ? " he asked, producing a coin and laying it on the coverlet. Ay, very well did Tibbie know what it was, and quickly enough did the little hand close over it, while a pleased smile touched the dainty lips. *'What do they pay for gettin' bairns in here, mem ? " asked the miller, as he followed Mrs. Carnegie out of the ward. " Nothing. It is a free institution for the benefit of the poor, kept up, as I told you, by voluntary subscription." " D' ye say sae ? There maun be an awfu' feck o' rich folk in Dunleith." " There are some both rich and generous-hearted, but many of our most willing offerings come from poor folks who have been benefited by coming here." " Ay, d* ye say sae ? Can onybody gie that likes?" " Certainly," answered the matron, with a smile. " Wad ye tak a wheen bawbees frae the like o' me, na?" " If you are so kind, try me and see," laughed the matron. " I hinna muckle on me," said the miller, drawing out a handful of silver, and laying it on the hall table • " but I '11 write oot a cheque a^ore I sleep, an* bring it the morn ; for I never kent or heard o' ony thing mair deservin' o' support" ,( • ! : 80 THOMAS DRYBURGH S DREAM. " I agree with you, Mr, Dryburgh. Anything you may be pleased to give will be gratefully accepted. Good morning. We will be pleased to see you to- morrow. I am sure you will enjoy seeing the children's treat. It is quite a sight." So Thomas Dryburgh left the Children's Hospital, with his eyes opened to several things of which he had never dreamed before. He occupied the rest of the day in hunting up several old acquaintances, who, as lads, had left quiet Balwhinnie to seek a wider sphere in the town. One of these lads, now a prosperous merchant, was so delighted to see a face from his native hills, that though he had not been particularly friendly with Thomas Dryburgh when they were boys together at Balwhinnie, he insisted on taking him out to his com- fortable and even luxurious home in the suburbs, where a gentle-eyed wife and a troop of happy child- ren made the sunshine of his life. And when he heard that business would keep the miller in Dunleith till next day, he would not hear of him spending the night at an hotel, and when the sweet wife added her kind words of invitation, Thomas Dryburgh was prevailed upon ; so the evening was spent in the cosy dining-room, amid ail the blithe chatter and quiet mirth found only in a truly happy home. *' What d 'ye think o' my bairns, Tam ? " said the merchant, when the two were left sitting by the tire ii I'- **A GENTLE-EYED WIFE AND A GROUP OF HAPPT CHILDREN." C( TIP.BTE. 8n after snppcr. " Doesn't it say a giiid deal for tluft Jamie Colqiihoun that be has a harne Hke this, an' sic a wife, eh ? " There was a twinkle in his eves as he spoke ; but the glow of a deeper feeling mingled with it. " Ay, man," was all the miller made answer, for his heart was filled by a thousand vague longings and unavailing regrets which v/ere like to overwhelm him. Here was one, the son of a poor widow in Balwhinnie, who, by dint of his own unaided exer- tions, and the exercise of the manly qualities of heart and head, had risen to a position of influence and happiness, while he, Thomas Dryburgh, who had been a rich man all his days, and that without any exertion of his own, was a more cipher, whose exist- ence had never benefited a human beini'. When the day came to balance accounts in the Great Hall of Judgment, with what words would he answer the accusing voice of the Master, when the intrusted talents were brought unused out of the napkin wherein he had so selfishly hid them ? "So ye 've never mairrit, Tam," said the merchant, speaking in the broad dialect he loved, though it was seldom heard in the society in which he moved ; " man, ye 've missed a heap. There 's nae life like it. But for my wife, God bless her, T wadna hae been whaur I am tlie day. An' the bairns are the very glint o' the sun itbel'." 84 TIIOMAS DRYB URGES DREAM. II " Ay, man," said the miller again, and his head fell upon his hands. The merchant looked at him compassionately, guessing something of what was passing in his heart. He knew his greed of gold ; knew, too, the story of Mary Dryburgh and her somewhat sad marriage, and, in the silence which ensued, a prayer rose silently from the good man's heart, that Thomas Dryburgh's remorse might bear its fruit. " I think 1 11 gang to my bed, Jamie," said the miller, rising somewhat heavily to his feet, and pass- ing his hand wearily across his brow. ** The morn, maybe, I '11 tell ye my errand to Dunleith. ^lan, be thankfu' ye are what ye are, an' no a metherable useless cratur' siccan as me. Guid nicht," In the night Mrs. Colquhoun awoke her husband, saying there was some one speaking in the adjoining room, which was the guest-chamber, occupied by Thomas Dryburgh. " It 's the voice o^ pr yer, my dear," said the merchant. " The Spirit of God is wrestling with the man, let us pray that He may prevail" 'II ■•xx^ ' i !1^ ! t\ CHAPTER IX. A HAPPY ENDING. }T snowed on Christmas morning ; and when the little ones awoke, thinking raptur- ously of all the glories in store, the sun was up, and the delicate fringe beginning to disappear from the boughs of the big elm tree which nodded in at the long windows of the western ward. What a bustle it was all forenoon getting each face and each pair of hands washed, each little head brushed smooth and straight, and each small figure attired in a new, bright-coloured night-dress, the gift of a kind lady in the town, all to do honour to Father Christmas, and to the dear fri* Is who had done so much to make it bright and pkusant for the suffering children shut out from *lie pleasures attendant upon youth and health. T'ut for the time aches and pains were almost forgotten (tliough there ivere one or two poor wee mortals too sorely stricken even to be roused by Christmas cheer), and when the long shadows of the early twilight began to fall, 85 r , 86 THOMAS DRYBURGH's DREAlf. 1 1 r 1 t "■ h I. '!; ■ -1 ,:i the nurses stepped about briskly, lighting a gas-lamp here and another tliere, though the full brilliance of light, when the taper should be put to the candles and little lanterns on the tree itself, was reserved until the visitors began to arrive. Among the first to enter the western ward was Mary Derrick ; the lady who, on Mrs. West's recom- mendation, had engaged her to help in her house until the busy festive season should be past, having kindly given her the afternoon to visit her sick child. A few weeks' pure air and good food, coupled with relief from anxiety and care, had already made a marked improvement in Mar3^ Derrick. Her step was lighter and freer, her eyes brighter, and her cheeks even had gained a little of the bloom they had lost. The nurses and the children, who knew her well now, wished her " A Merry Christmas " as she passed up the ward, a greeting which she returned with chat sweet, ready smile which made her face so pleasant to look at ; and in another moment she was at Tibbie's bedside, clasping the dear Y;ee figure in her arms, and feasting her motherly eyes on the sweet, bonnie face which was ho'.* omy 'jarthly treasure. What an unutterable joy it was to Mary Derrick to watch the gradual imprv>v;;rnent in her darling, and how deep and true was ti gratitude in her heart I cannct tell you. She hai vowed again and again in her inmost heart A HAPPY ENDINd. ■ : that every penny she could save from her wages should be laid aside for the 2)urpose of paying her debt to the Children's Hospital. She looked upon the benefits Tibbie had received as a loan to herself, to be paid back by slow degrees perhaps, but still as scrupulously and honourably as any ordinary debt. There was not one atom of meanness nor of selfish- ness in Mary Derrick's heart. " See my sixpence, mother," said Tibbie, exhibit- ing with childish glee the shining coin she had received from the stranger on the previous day. " Ay ; an' whaur did Tibbie get that ? " asked the fond mother, as her hand wandered to and fro caressingly on the bairn's golden head. " The kind man that came yesterday," said the sweet, childish tones, " An* I telled him to look at the Christmas tree, mother." " Ay, well, my lamb, Tibbie '11 keep the sixpence till the bonnie days when she can rin again," said Mary Derrick caressingly, thinking one of the many friends of the Children's Hospital had been paying a Christmas visit to the inmates. At that moment one of the nurses touched her arm. " There 's somebody wishing to see you down- stairs, Mrs. Derrick. A gentleman, Mrs. Carnegie told me to sav. He is in the little waiting-room off the hall, and you are to go down at once." I 88 THOMAS nUYiiUllOH's DllKAM. II,! lip' »1 111 n ^ ^fjiry Dorrick roso to lier feet, lookinpj somowaat surprisc A HAPPY ENDINO. 89 "It's TTic, Mary," returned ho in iTOTniilons lins1 v^"*" ^ Phoiographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STREET WnSTH.N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-450& i^. !> <^ I i i!i 1 92 THOMAS DRYBURGH's DREAM. of thoughtfulness a passing shadow which recallGd the burdened past. After all, we cannot quite forget. Presently the sweet shrill tones of a child's voice came sounding in through the open door, and a chubby rosy-cheeked wee mai^-^^n, with her hands filled with buttercups, came toddling in, followed by a substantial, well-dressed, comely figure marvellously like that of Nancy Thorburn. And so it was ; for since the new reign had begun at the Girnel, there were many comings and goings between it and Leerie Law. " Guid day t 'ye, Mary. Am I late ? It 'c no easy gaun tea-drinkin' wi' sae mony beasts to look efter. I spent a guid hoor efter I was dressed huntin' a clockin'. hen. They're perfect pests," she said laughing. " What a pet that bairn o' yours is ! She was ower Balwhinnie Brae puin* buttercups an* lookin' for me." "Ay, ye see Tibbie never saw them growin' by the roadsides afore ; " answered Mary, with a smile and a tear ; and while she ushered her visitor into the bedroom to take off her bonnet, Tibbie ran off to find her unole and bring him in to tea. The women folk stayed so long chatting, after the manner of their kind, that when they again entered tho kitchen the miller was in his seat at the table, with the bairn perched on her high chair beside him. It w^as an amusing and yet a touching thing to see the "puin' buttercups an' lookin' for me. ^■lii^ uttcrl^ someti bairn A 1 the rn forgot times Law, < from 1 "0 said '. •*I ne hand "Tl said ^ But upon 1 teapot " But An( I hi the CI av, ov( are re big h A HAVPY ENDING. grey-h:iii'cd man and tlie snnny-liaired child so utterly devoted to each other. Mary would laugh sometimes, and say she was jealous of the love the bairn had for her uncle ; but that was only in jest. A hearty greeting passed between the miller and the mistress of Leerie Law. The past, though not forgotten, was laid aside, although a joke was some- times passed about the miller's first visit to Leerie Law, of which Mary had received a comical account from her brother. " Oh, this fireside 's a sicht for sair een, neebor," said Nancy, looking round with glistening eyes. " I never thocht to see the like in the Girnel." " Nor I, Nancy," said the miller, and his brown hand fell caressingly on Tibbie's golden head. " Them that lives langest sees maist, they say," said Nancy blithely. " What d'ye say, ^lary? " But ALary's answer was not audible. She smiled upon them all, and when she stepped back to set the teapot at the fire, she whispered to herself very low, "But with God all things are possible." And then the merry meal began. ^F "^ Tp "T^ n^ I have only to add that Mary Derrick's debt to the Children's Hospital has been long since paid, — ay, over and above. At Christmas time two cheques are regularly despatched from the Girnel, and a big hamper as well, in which are packed the « 96 THOMAS DRYBURGHS DREAM. 1^ I ' t ■t < freshest eggs and the most delicious butter and the fattest chickens the Girnel can produce ; in the sending of which Thomas Dryburgh himself is more deeply interested than any one else. And, in the old-fashioned bureau, which stands in his own bed- room, there is to be found a blue document, the counterpart of that lying in a solicitor's office in Dun- leith, which is marked " Thomas Drvburfi^h's Will." There is one bequest set forth in that document which we may mention, though it is a breach of professional confidence. Tliis clause ensures that after Thomas Dry burgh's death the greater j^art of his hoarded gold shall go to the endowment of two cots in the Children's Hospital in Dunleith, to be marked, "The gift of an anonymous donor, out of. gratitude for great mercy vouchsafed." So the dream bore its fruit, and proved one of the greatest blessings of Thomas Dryburgh's life. THE END. ,.|: I I . I