"If I have a good day I'll just take some warm stuff home for the children," Mrs. MacDougall said to herself. Then she pulled out her purse and looked over its contents, turning them over and over, and reckoning them up, as if by dint of careful arithmetic they might, perchance, come to a little more. In one part of it there was a little packet of money done up in paper, marked "Robbie." There was more there than in all the other divisions put together. It was clear Robbie would not go short. Mrs. MacDougall looked at it with a little sigh.

"I must get yarn to finish Elsie's stockings," she said to herself. "Duncan will have her old ones that she's grown out of. A fine lassie she'll be in a few more years, growing like this; but it's hard work to keep them without a man's earnings to look to."

"You're thinking out some very hard question, judging by your silence," the farmer said, after a while.

"Yes, it's just a puzzle to know how to bring the children up," Mrs. MacDougall replied. "Since my good man died and left me with them, it's been a hard matter at times, but never so hard as now. There's my Elsie, growing as fine a lass as may be, though a deal bit wilful without a man to intimidate her. She'll have to take service in a few years more, for what else can I do with her? an' I'm thinking she'll take it hard, for she's got rare notions, an' is a bit clever above the common. Duncan's over young yet to fret about; Robbie'll be provided for, no doubt, when the proper time comes."

"I wouldn't fret at all," the farmer replied, heartily; "you've done the best, and worked hard for the bairnies since your good man was taken. They'll find a good provision, I doubt not. There's a special protection for the fatherless and the widow, so the minister's always saying."

"It's just the one interest of my life to see the children started," Mrs. MacDougall replied, "although sometimes I get pretty nigh disheartened."

"You've had a sorrowful life," the farmer said. "Some dead, others false and mean, but you've much to be proud of. The bairnies are strong an' winsome, an' I'm sure the little one's just a real credit to you."

"Ah! the poor little lad. I think his father would be astonished to see him. Yes, I'm bound to say he's done well, all things considered."

"But, if I may say it, I think you're a bit mistaken to treat him any differently from the others. Surely he's strong an' hearty enough now."

"Mother talks like that," Mrs. MacDougall replied; "but I must be just. There's many a time when I'd be glad to give the others a little more and Robbie a little less, but I regard it as a temptation to be resisted. He has a double claim upon me, an' if I were to push him to the wall, or let him be sacrificed in any way, the dead would rise up an' reproach me."

"But his father never intended you to make a difference between the children," the farmer continued. "I'm thinking if it mightn't make a jealousy among 'em, which wouldn't be a good thing for any of them."

"Children don't remark much," Mrs. MacDougall replied. "They know how weakly he is, an' they wouldn't be jealous. It's circumstances has made the difference. If their father had lived there'd have been plenty for all, doubtless, but now the strong ones must go without, since they can't all have everything; an' they know it must be so."

"Well, well, you do your best; but I will say I agree with the old dame," Farmer Jarrett replied; and then they changed the subject.

In the meantime Elsie, having seen her mother depart, and had her grumble against Robbie, turned back into the cottage. Mrs. MacDougall was very greatly mistaken in supposing that Elsie was not jealous. Duncan's matter-of-fact mind took things as he found them, and did not trouble to inquire why they were so or whether they should be different, but Elsie was quite the opposite. She was always troubling herself about things that did not concern her, and not being of an open, ingenuous disposition, which turns naturally to some other person for a solution of its difficulties, she formed her own conclusions, which, more often than not, were very erroneous ones.

It was not yet seven, so that there were more than two hours wanting to school-time. Elsie was very busy about the house for a little time; she changed her week-day clothes for her Sunday ones, and made Duncan do the same; she opened their money-boxes, and carefully counted the coppers they contained: they amounted altogether to elevenpence, halfpennies and farthings included. These she tied up in a handkerchief, and put in her pocket. Then she went to the pantry, and took from it a loaf of bread and some Dutch cheese, which she put into a basket.

This done, she called sharply to Duncan to make haste, for she was "going to have a run on the moor before school." Robbie asked timidly if he might come too, but Elsie would not hear of it.

"You can tell granny when she comes downstairs that we're not coming home to dinner. I've taken our dinner in a basket," she said to Robbie.

The little fellow stood at the door, and watched them wistfully as they ran off. It was dull to turn back into the empty kitchen, and wait there till the old dame came downstairs. If Robbie could have put his feelings into words, he would have said that he would have been happier roughing it with Duncan and Elsie than with the constant care and consideration that separated him from them. Perhaps, after all, Farmer Jarrett was right.

Elsie was in an extraordinary state of excitement this morning. She danced along, laughing and talking merrily. Duncan wondered to see her in such spirits, for it was seldom that she had nothing to grumble at.

By-and-by they reached a point where there were two roads: the one leading to the village, the other a short cut to the school, running along the back of the village. Elsie took the long one.

"Where are you going?" Duncan asked, in astonishment.

Elsie looked at him gleefully, and burst out laughing. "I don't mind telling you now," she replied; "you can't let it out. We're going to England, and we've got the whole day before us, for granny won't expect us home till after afternoon school, and mother won't be home till sunset. Oh! wasn't it just a capital idea of mine?"

"To England?" echoed Duncan, somewhat ruefully, for the idea was, after all, sudden enough to take him aback. "Then let's be quick, Elsie. Shall we get there to-night?"

"That depends," Elsie returned, with the air of a person who knows all about it. "If we get a lift on the road, we shall get along quickly."

It had occurred to her that they might not reach London that evening, but she was not daunted by the thought, for she had a plan in her mind in case of such an event, only she considered it wiser to keep Duncan in ignorance of any possible difficulty.

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