any one that a man who had made money across the "drink"--as I heard an
American once irreverently style the Atlantic--would scarcely be likely
to stay for any considerable time in such an out-of-the-world spot. To
my mind it seemed incredible that he could be content for long with the
comparative luxury of Mrs. Dobie's inn.

Christian sat at her machine in her clean little kitchen when I arrived
there, and she called to me cheerily through the open doorway to enter,
and rose to receive me. She was a plain little woman, about forty
years old, probably; she bore the marks of her many anxieties on her
brow--too early scored with wrinkles. I could not help thinking, as I
saw her, that no fine clothes that her rich relative might buy for her
would ever make her anything else than a plain country body; in silks
and satins, even, she would still be the same homely Christian.

"I came over to say how glad I am to hear of your good fortune," I said
when the usual greetings had passed, and I was seated in the chair of
state by the fire--for the hillside was chilly, and fires were seldom
wanting up there even in the summer weather.

"Thank you kindly, sir," was her answer. "Father Fleming was in
himself yesterday, for the same reason. It is very good of the priest
and yourself, sir, as well as our neighbors aboot, to take sic an
interest in us. Indeed, I'm very thankful that God has been sae guid
to us. It looks as though our troubles are coming to an end, with this
guid news!"

"When do you expect your cousin?" I asked.

Christian took a letter from the mantelpiece, where a china dog had