together; and the rain plashed against the window, and the sun glinted in
after it, and the village awakened to its daily life and labor, but they
took no note of the world outside the cottage, until a little child tapped
low down on the closed door.

"My mammy wants some milk, Maggie Promoter," and Maggie filled the small
pitcher, and then smilingly said, "We hae forgotten our breakfast, Allan.
What will you hae?"

"To-day is all mine, Maggie; let us have oat cake and milk, and kisses."
And he followed her from cupboard to drawer, and stood by her while she
spread the cloth, and ate his portion by her side, and thought it like a
meal in Paradise.

And oh, how swiftly went those few hours stolen from two years of waiting
and longing; full of the eager joy of the moment, touched with the sweet
melancholy of the near parting. They forgot that the wind had changed, and
that David would be earlier home for it; forgot all things but their own
bliss and sorrow, until a passing neighbor called out--"yonder boat coming
wi' all her sails spread, will be the 'Allan Campbell,' Maggie."

Then they knew that their real parting had come. From it, Allan, white
with grief, went to the pier, and Maggie forced back her tears, and hung
on the kettle, and spread the table, and made all things ready to welcome
her aunt. She had not seen her for many years, she had not any pleasant
memories of her, but "blood is thicker than water," and kinship, to the
Scotch heart, has claims of almost sacred obligation.

Allan, thinking of Maggie's comfort, watched Aunt Janet's arrival with
much interest. She was a tall, thin woman, dressed in homespun linsey,