for a happy home."

Dymock sighed, Tamar took his heavy knapsack from him, and placed before
him bread and butter, and cheese, and a stoup of excellent beer.

"Eat, dear father," she said, "and then you shall go to bed, (for it was
late in the evening,) and to-morrow you will see what a sweet place this
is;" but poor Dymock could not rally that night. Tamar had always slept
with Mrs. Margaret, and the best room of the two above stairs had been
prepared for Dymock, Mrs. Margaret having found a place under the
rafters for her innumerable boxes.

The poor Laird slept well, and when he awoke the sun was shining into
his room, and aunt Margaret had arranged his clean clothes at the foot
of his bed; he arose in better spirits, and dressing himself, he went
down; he found Tamar in the kitchen, and she, without speaking, took his
hand and led him to his study.

The poor gentleman could not bear this: he saw the sacrifice his aunt
had made for him, and the exertions also which Tamar must have made to
produce this result, and he fairly wept; but this burst of agitation
being over, he embraced his adopted child, and expressed his earnest
hope that henceforward he might be enabled to live more closely with
his God.

But the mind of Dymock was not a well balanced one; he could not live
without a scheme, and he had scarcely been two days in the cottage, when
he re-aimed at the ideas which he had formerly indulged of becoming an
author, and of obtaining both fame and money by his writings. Mrs.
Margaret was fretted when she was made aware of this plan, and sent