THE NEW HOME.
The next morning was the Sabbath. Of course honest Wullie was at home on
that morning. It was a strange thing for him to have children in his
house. But his face brightened as little Jamie's curly head and happy
face appeared, and instinctively he extended his hand. "Come to me, come
to your uncle, my wee man," he said in winning tones.
The child approached him rather slowly, and suffered himself to be
lifted to his uncle's knee. Soon the broad palm of honest Wullie was
stroking Jamie's head, and from that time Uncle Wullie's knee was the
child's favorite seat. The other child was a mere babe, a sweet,
delicate little girl, named Isabel, whom Wullie always called "the wee
lass." This child he did not at first attempt to take, for she was "sic
a wee bit thing," he said, he would be "a'maist sure to let her fa'."
There was soon a decided improvement in Rab's family. The children grew
plump and rosy, and the mother lost the pale, sad look. Rab seldom went
to town, and when he did he returned early. His wife began to breathe
more freely; she inwardly felt that Wullie's influence would save her
husband.
Spring came, and with it a change of labor for Robert Murdoch. His
brother secured employment for him on Mr. Lindsay's farm, as he had
proposed. Jeannie now moved about the house with a light step and a
lighter heart. The cottage too was undergoing a change; not under the
carpenter's hand, but under the skilful, remodelling hand of a woman.
The bareness was less apparent. In the best room were a chest of drawers
and a clock, the only heirlooms Jeannie possessed. The windows were
curtained, some of the rough chairs and unsightly stools were cushioned;
here was a small mirror, and there a bright pincushion and housewife.
The cradle, too, with its many-colored covering and tiny pillow, and
little Isabel's sweet face half hidden in it, made the cottage seem more
like a home. True, there was no elegance or beauty, but there was a
change; for honest Wullie had considered his home furnished when he had
a bed, a table, a few chairs, shovel and tongs, parritch-pot, and
bake-kettle. As to time, he could always tell that by the crowing of the
cock or the position of the sun. He was so accustomed to these methods
of telling time that he seldom needed to look at the noon-mark cut in
the south window. But Wullie appreciated the change that had taken
place, and smiled approvingly. He even went so far as to say, "It taks a
woman's hand to mak hame tidy." He began to perceive that he had
received as well as afforded comfort by opening his door to others.
Quickly passed the spring and summer seasons. On warm afternoons Jeannie
often sat in the pleasant cottage door sewing on some pretty garments
for the little ones who were playing at her feet. She had watched the
budding trees with unusual interest, for the new life in nature seemed
to harmonize with her own fresh hopes. Her heart was again blithe and
hopeful, and as the birds carolled their notes of joy, she too sang old
songs of love and happiness. But hers was a happiness founded on the
constancy of frail humanity. Alas, that cannot always be trusted.