We will now leave Jamie in school and turn to the other children. Belle was now as old as Jamie was when he was put to work, and Jeannie feared that Wullie would soon speak about putting her to service. This would have seemed well enough, quite in keeping with the circumstances of the family, had it not been for Jamie's good fortune, which made it appear rather out of place. So the mother and daughter knitted for Mrs. Lindsay and others as they had opportunity, and the mother was always sure to buy Belle's clothes with the proceeds of the knitting. Annie was a bright little girl ten years old. She too was busy, for none were allowed to eat idle bread in honest Wullie's cottage. Wullie's own son David, or Davie as he was called, was also taught to save steps. But the most stir and activity was in the morning. No one was allowed to lie in bed after the sun was up. The mother called to any one who was likely to transgress this rule, "Come, dinna let the sun beat you up the morn." The girls attended school quite regularly in summer, but in winter they often did not attempt to walk the long distance. Then, when there were neither lessons nor out-of-door work, the balls of yarn fast disappeared and took other shapes. Annie, young as she was, did most of the knitting for the family.

Honest Wullie thought himself a happy man; and so he was. In the evening, when he put labor and care alike aside, and looked around at the industrious, cheerful inmates of his well-kept home, he often thought, "Surely the lines hae fallen to me in pleasant places." Every day brought its work. In the morning the poultry was to be fed and the cows must be milked, besides the work indoors. In summer the garden was to be kept free from weeds, and the berries and wild fruits were to be gathered in their season. When there was no work to be done, the children were sometimes sent out with the order to "gang and play themselves;" but very often they were told to learn a Psalm first.

One thing they looked forward to, whether at work or at play, and that was a letter from Jamie. They had little else to break the monotonous days and the long winter evenings. True, Archie Lindsay came in sometimes, bringing his little sister with him; but that soon passed, and then nothing was heard but the click of the knitting-needles. Many times when the children were alone they told over threadbare riddles, simple rhymes learned at school, and the marvellous tales that tradition handed down to every new generation. They had no story books. They were always glad when Donald McPherson came in for an hour, for he never failed to have some news to tell. So passed the time until the early summer, when the children began to count the days that must elapse before Jamie should be at home again. All were anxious for his coming, but no one looked forward with so much longing as did the mother.