There were hurried footsteps and coming and going one rainy night at the home of the Lindsays. It was not the evening of Alice's marriage, for Hallowmas was long past, and Alice was far away. There had been a quiet wedding, for all had thought merriment out of place in a house so soon to become a house of mourning. The grandmother was feeble still, and would be so until the mortal should put on immortality; but it was the grandfather about whom all were anxious on that gloomy night. He had been seized with sudden illness, and lay speechless and unconscious. Not one of the household had retired to rest. Davie and Jeannie were there. Robert had gone for the doctor, and all were anxiously waiting for his arrival.

"It is a lang way," said Davie, "and the roads are heavy wi' the rain. Ye maun hae patience."

But it was not easy to be patient. Again and again did one and another look out into the darkness and listen, but heard only the fast-falling rain.

"If only Sandy had been here to go," said Belle. "Robert is but a young lad to be out this dark night."

But Sandy was in Edinburgh.

"Robert will do as weel as onybody," said Davie. "I might hae gane mysel, if had kenned ye would be worried about the lad; but hae nae fears for Robert; he'll come hame safe and sound."

Archie Lindsay sat by his father's bedside. Margaret, his sister, was constantly passing from one sick-room to the other. Mrs. Lindsay suspected that something had happened to her husband. "What is wrang wi' your faither?" she asked.

Margaret vainly endeavored to quiet her apprehensions.

"Ye needna say your faither isna muckle seck, Maggie. What else would keep ye a' out o' your beds? I maun see him for mysel."

Finding that she could not be quieted, her two children carried her to her husband's bedside. She gazed on the face to which the light of reason would never more return.

"Wae is me! Wae is me!" she exclaimed. "He is gaen, and gaen as his faither did before him. Oh, that I, wha hae been sae long on the brink o' the grave, s'ould live to see him taen awa!"

Her children persuaded her to return to her own room, promising to inform her if any change should take place.

The doctor came, but his remedies were of no avail. Mr. Lindsay passed away at dawn.

Margaret, true to her promise, communicated the sad intelligence to her mother as soon as she awoke.

Mrs. Lindsay spoke not a word. She raised her eyes and stretched her hands upward; then the hands fell and the eyes closed; her heart had ceased to beat.

Margaret Lindsay had been a most dutiful daughter. As long as her parents lived she had devoted herself to their care and comfort. Now that they were gone, she became a member of her brother's family.

Little Annie shared her aunt's room, for the child had been very lonely since Alice went away. She sometimes relieved the hours of their tediousness by going to her uncle Davie's to play with the twins. Many an hour did she amuse both herself and them, much to the satisfaction of her aunt Jeannie, whose duties were neither few nor light.

Annie was fond of books and study, like her brother Sandy. Since he had been in Edinburgh he had written to his little sister, telling her how much he desired her to study, and how pleasant it was to read and gain knowledge. Very proud was she when she had written a letter to him in a neat, legible hand. "Alexander looks nicer than Sandy," she said, looking at the address, "but I like the sound of Sandy better."

While Alexander was in Edinburgh, studying under his uncle's direction, Robert Lindsay was fast attaining a man's stature. He had no taste for farm-work, but he liked to handle tools, and was never tired of machinery.

"He'll no make a farmer, that is plain to be seen," said his father, "and he might as well do what he likes best."

But his mother, loath to spare another child from home, managed to hold the matter in check for a short time. Finally he became so restless that his parents consented to let him go to Glasgow, where his sister Alice lived, that he might gratify his inclination in some of the many mills and machine-shops of that busy city.

The house seemed lonely when he was gone; and well it might, for in no very long time five had left the home circle. So dull was it that Isabel prevailed on Davie to let his son Jamie, who had for some time been employed on the farm, live with her altogether, so that the evenings might not seem quite so long. Annie did not at first like him in Robert's place, for he teased her slyly in many ways. If she laid down her knitting he would manage to tangle the yarn or draw out some of the needles. He misplaced her bookmarks, and pretended to rub out her sums. But that was only his way of noticing her, for, after all, he loved to please her, and he brought her all the queer or pretty things he found in the woods or fields. She reproved him one day when he brought her some bird's eggs.

"O Jamie!" she exclaimed, "how could you do sic a thing? You hae robbed a bird's nest."

"Nae, I didna," he replied. "The auld bird is dead. A sportsman maun hae shot her. I kenned long ago where the nest was, and the mother-bird hasna been there these mony days. Nae, I wouldna rob a bird's nest even for you, Annie."

The twins often came to see Annie as soon as they were old enough, and they were always welcome at Aunt Belle's. They bid fair to have the good sense of their parents, with more beauty. Davie was never too busy to stop and speak to his little daughters as they passed him at his work.

Archie had grown to be a big boy, and was a great help to his mother. But he had a great aversion to in-door work, and he longed for the day when Maggie and Nannie should take his place, and he work in the fields like other lads.

Time soon granted the boy's wish. Davie Murdoch had no more bairns to trot upon his knee; and Jeannie was heard to remark, "It taks mair cloth to mak gowns for baith lassies than to mak ane for mysel."