sick at heart, an' I'll dee here, grandmither, gin ye dinna tak' me hame."
"Oh! wae is me! wae is me!" cried the wearied and discouraged woman, whose own heart was homesick in longings for her native land, to which she was bound by many ties far stronger than any little Alice knew. "Wae's me, wae's me! what iver will I do? I hae nabodie in aw' the wide world but this ane; my ain bonnie dochter, that luved me true, is in her cauld grave, an' the mools abune her head; an' her little wee Allie, my ain bonnie wee Allie, that I hae carried in my bosom sin' the day her puir mither deed—she dinna care for me noo. Oh! wae's the day!—I hae nathing left to luve."
"Yes, yes; I do care for ye, grannie! an' I do luve ye," said the child, turning impatiently away from her as she spoke. "But I want to gae hame—I maun gae hame—I will gae hame!"
"Gae, then," said the grandmother, her own impatient spirit fairly overtasked by the obstinate persistency of the child. "Gae yer ways then—I hae dune wi' ye." And, as she spoke, she removed the child from her
