tides of maternity as the clear notes of a bugle rally the
dispirited and flying forces on an undecided field.

'Mother, will yo' draw that blind?'

'What doesto want th' blind drawin' for, Amanda?'

'I want to see th' morn break.'

'Whatever for, lass?' asked Mrs. Stott, as she drew the cord with
tremulous hand.

For a few minutes the girl looked out at the distant horizon with
a breaking light in her own eyes. Then, taking her mother's hand,
she said:

'Dun yo' see that rim o' gowd (gold) on the hills yonder?'

'Yi, lass; forsure I do. What abaat it?'

'Watch it, mother! See yo', it geds broder--more like a ribbin--a
brode, yollow ribbin, like that aw wore i' mi hat when I were a
little lass. Yo' remember, durnd yo'?--I wore it one charity
sarmons.'

'Aw remember, Amanda,' said the parent, choking with the
reminiscences of the past which the old hat and its yellow ribbon
aroused.

'Naa see, mother,' continued the girl, her eye fixed on the