The following week Laird Graham came to see about Sandy's difficulty with his neighbor, and he brought his wife to our house. It was two or three years since they had been to see us.

The laird took a great liking to Kenneth, who was at that time eighteen years of age, and a fine lad he was; saving his lameness, no bonnier young man was in the whole country-side. The lad's conversation showed so much good sense that our kinsman wanted him to go and live with him, and he spoke to us about it.

"I have need of some one like Kenneth," said he. "I was thinking of one of Christie's lads; but they are strong and can labor in the field, while Kenneth should have some easier way to earn his bread. Davie is but poorly, and he is worse since Katie married and went away. I think his loneliness wears on him. Kenneth would be a companion for him; and as he is good at figures, he could keep my accounts and look after things when I am away. I will do well by the lad, and he will have no hard work."

"Thank you for your kind offer," said my father. "If the lad wants to go I cannot stand in his way."

Kenneth was glad of so good a chance to begin his way in the world, and at once accepted the opportunity. The separation caused sadness; but we consoled ourselves with the thought that he would not be far from us.

Thus Kenneth was provided with a good home among his own kin, and a chance to see more of the world and do better than he could in our humbler home and sphere. He could also help us more with his wages than he could with his work. We had need of his help, for father's strength failed every year, and at that time his limbs were so palsied that he could scarcely walk. He was feeble, and at times greatly suffered. We spent a great deal with doctors; but he became worse instead of better.

Three years after Kenneth went away came a summer long to be remembered by us all. Mother sickened, and for many weeks the angel of death seemed hovering over us. Then we were indeed troubled. Father's anxiety increased his weakness, and we thought we should lose both father and mother. I was just turned sixteen, and I did my best that mother should have no cause to worry about the work. Walter and I watched anxiously for signs of returning health, but they were long in coming. Everything was changing without. The summer sun was fast maturing grain and fruit; but still she, who had been wont to admire the one and pluck the other, lay on her bed of languishing. Wearisome days were these to us all. I was determined not to yield to fatigue; but tired nature could not be wholly overruled by force of will. Many times when, at a late hour, I sought my bed, my limbs almost refused to carry me to it. But the darkest night must be followed by the dawn; and so, too, the morn of hope dawned for us—mother recovered. Then it was first noticed that I was worn and needed rest. "Poor lass!" said my mother, "as soon as I get my strength you must have a play-spell."

Kenneth had driven over many times to see his mother; twice Cousin Margaret came with him. The last time she came she found mother better; and noticing that I was pale and worn, she proposed that I should go to her house and rest a week or two. "As soon as you are strong I will send Kenneth for her, and you maunna refuse me, Cousin Agnes," she said.

I scarcely knew whether I was glad or sorry to go. I was to have a new gown, and a bonnie one too; mother said it was but right. I remember that all the silver we could gather on a market was spent to make me ready. When at last the day came and I rode away with Kenneth, I anticipated scarcely more pleasure than homesickness. I think I should have been frightened out of the visit altogether if I had known I was to meet there one who was destined to be my companion through life. But so it was, for there I first saw James Somerville, whose name I now bear.

He was a nephew of the laird, and was spending a few weeks there before he should recommence his studies—for he was studying for the ministry. He was a tall, handsome youth, with fine brown eyes. We became acquainted, of course; and I wondered that he was so well pleased with me, for I was but a bashful girl, and among so many strange people I was more shy than ever. But he had a way of talking to me that put me at my ease, and I quite forgot that he was so recently unknown to me. I met many strangers, and there were many diversions; but in them all I often found myself thinking of the fine brown eyes—far oftener than I thought of Kenneth or the dear ones I had left at home.

Ten days passed rapidly. There was riding and driving, coming and going, and more stir than I had ever seen in all my life. My visit, that I thought might be tedious, ended too soon. Two hours' ride with Kenneth brought me again to our cottage. I am ashamed to write that to me it looked plain and small, and that I felt jealous of Kenneth, who enjoyed all the privileges of the laird's own family. But I soon put such thoughts away, and hurried within to greet my good, kind mother who had spared me so many days. Father and Walter seemed dearer for my short absence. But the quiet of my life had been disturbed. It was as when one casts a rock into the calm bosom of a little lake; it sinks, but that is not all. It sets wee waves in motion, and they widen and widen in ever-increasing circles, and stop not till they reach the shore. So it is with many of the seeming unimportant events of life.