for you and her, as well."

Jamie shook his head and went off. He could no trust himself to speak
again. And he went back to Annie wi' tears in his een, and the heart
within him heavy as it were lead. Still, when he reached hame, and saw
Annie looking at him wi' such grief in her moist een, he could no bear
to tell her of the hundred pounds. He could no bear to let her think
it was selling the bairn they were. And, in truth, whether he was to
tak' the siller or not, it was no that had moved him.

It was a sair, dour nicht for Jamie and the wife. They lay awake, the
twa of them. They listened to the breathing of the wean; whiles and
again he'd rouse and greet a wee, and every sound he made tore at
their heart strings. They were to say gude-bye to him the morrow,
never to see him again; Annie was to hold him in her mither's arms for
the last time. Oh, it was the sair nicht for those twa, yell ken
withoot ma tellin' ye!

Come three o' the clock next afternoon and there was the sound o'
wheels ootside the wee hoose. Jamie started and looked at Annie, and
the tears sprang to their een as they turned to the wean. In came the
doctor, and wi' him a nurse, all starched and clean.

"Weel, Jamie, an' hoo are the patients the day? None so braw, Annie,
I'm fearin'. 'Tis a hard thing, my lassie, but the best in the end.
We'll hae ye on yer feet again in no time the noo, and ye can gie yer
man a bonnier bairn next time! It's glad I am ye'll let me tak' the
wean and care for him."

Annie could not answer. She was clasping the bairn close to her, and