But the child had been her father's special pet of
all his little flock.
"His heart," said Bell, the rising tears witnessing to the sadness of
the memories called back by her story, "was well-nigh broke. He burst
into tears at the sight of her wee white face, and sobbed like a bairn
wi' the rest of us."
And poor little Peggy! How touching the story! She never ceased to
reproach herself for what she considered her carelessness in losing
sight of Jessie on that fatal day. No single creature attached a
shadow of blame to her; on the contrary, it was the dearest wish of all
to try to console her and assure her of her innocence in that respect.
But it was of no avail. Her unceasing grief fretted away her strength,
and six months later she was borne to St. Mungo's ancient burying
ground to share Jessie's grave.
"It's nigh on sixty years sin'," said Bell apologetically, as she wiped
her streaming eyes with her apron; "but the thocht o' that time brings
the tears up yet."
III
ARCHIE
"Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie."
(_Pope--"Ode to Solitude"_)
He was an unusually wretched semblance of a man. A tattered coat--some
one's cast-off overcoat--green, greasy, mud-stained, clung round his
shaking knees; trousers which might have been of any hue originally,
but were now "sad-colored," flapped about his thin legs and fringed his
ankles; shoes, slashed across the front for ease, revealed bare feet
beneath; an antique and dirty red woolen muffler swathed his neck
almost to the ears.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34