knees, and, setting her down upon her feet in the middle of the floor, she turned away from her. "Gae ye, then—do as ye choose; gae where ye loike, an' leave me my lane; I kin but dee; mak' yer way hame to Scotland, if ye will—and whin they ask for the auld grandmither that fed ye an' bred ye, ye kin tell them ye lef' her her lane to dee. Tell them her on'y ain child, her bonnie Alice, wa' dead; an' her on'y gran'child, her Alice's wee Allie, rinned awa' fra' her. Oh, haith! dinna ye greet for me—somebodie will lay me in the grave, an' in heaven abune I'll maybe happen fin' my ain true Alice; guid-bye to ye—ye kin gae." Had the old woman calculated nicely the effect of her words (which she certainly did not, for she was scarcely less impulsive and passionate than the child herself), she could not have chosen any more effectual for her purpose. The stubborn and self-willed spirit, that could not be subdued by opposition, or reached by reason or argument, was conquered by affection, and yielded to a quick burst of repentant love and feeling. "Oh! I winna gae an' leave ye; I win-*
