any of the family had to do with. I'm sure of that, or I'd have as much
as heard the name.'

The minister shook his head, discounting the certainty.

'Maybe John will remember the name; your father, and your grandfather
too, had great talks with him when he was a lad. I'll write a line and
ask him. Poor William or Thomas might have known, if they had lived.'

William and Thomas, grey-haired men, respected fathers of families, had
already been laid by the side of their father in the burying-ground.
John lived in a distant country, counting himself too feeble now to
cross the seas. The daughters, the younger members of this flock, were
passing into advanced years. The mother sat by her fireside, and smiled
softly to herself as she watched the dancing flame, and thought that her
young lover would return on the morrow.

The days went on.

'I cannot think it right to tamper with my mother in this false way.'
The spinster daughter spoke tearfully.

'Would you rather see Mistress Macdonald die of starvation?' The doctor
spoke sharply; he was tired of the protest. The doctor approved of the
new maid. 'She's a wise-like body,' he said; 'let her have her way.'

'Don't you know us, mother?' the daughters would ask patiently, sadly,
day by day. But she never knew them; she only mistook one or the other
of them at times for her own mother, of whom she stood in some awe.