retreated into a corner, abashed and reproachful.

Memories swarmed back on the little man.

It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think
of that last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little
room above.

"Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man," she had said in low tones.
"I'll be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and
him."

He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still
a moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly
recognized.

"Minnie!" he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand
into his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.

"Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!" and he held it out
anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for
any ill.

"Eat it for mither," she said, smiling tenderly; and then: "Davie, ma
heart, I'm leavin' ye."

The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners
of his mouth drooping pitifully.

"Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?" he asked, his face all working.