'mair awa' frae himsel',' as she said, than he did within the last half-hour. She walked about the room, half-crazed, broken with hunger and grief, and muttering, ‘Puir wee Norrie, puir wee Norrie!'

Willie was now eating bread ravenously; but all at once he stopped, and cried that the roof of his mouth was sore, and that he could not eat. The fact is, the lad had fasted so long that his little jaws refused to perform their function at the speed which his hunger demanded.

Tak' sma' bites, Willie, and eat slow, and ye'll soon be better. Ye've wanted owre lang, God knows!" and something rose in the father's throat as he spoke. There was thunder in his face too; but he became gentle as he cast his eye once more towards the bed, and saw his wife hanging over the dying boy, as if she would give him her own life, or keep out the pale shadow that was slowly creeping over their hearth. 'Mary,' said Campbell, will ye not try and eat Ye maun be terribly hungry.'

a bit?

'No, Jamie, I couldna eat. Twa-three hours sin' there was a fearfu' ruggin' at my heart; but when wee Norrie began to cry for bread, an' wander in his words, the hunger left me in a glif.'

The poor mother spoke truly. She could not have eaten a bit; but she was herself being eaten by the most intense anxiety. Her strength and powers of endurance were sorely tried.

'Norrie crying for bread, an' nane tae gie him!" repeated the father mechanically, in a stunned manner. He sat down beside the bed, gazed on his little son, who was tossing and moaning in troubled sleep, and groaned himself, muttering, 'The Lord help us! the Lord help us!' In brain diseases the ear is sometimes preternaturally acute; and Norrie seemed to catch his father's voice, for he immediately responded wildly, though weakly,

6 The Lord! the Lord!'

He opened his eyes, lay still for a moment, then flung the clothes off his body, and half rising, addressed his father :

'It's you, faither; I kent ye wad come; I heard a fit on the stair-ye're a guid faither!' and he flung his arms round his father's neck. Then he whispered, 'Hae ye ony meat ?-ony bread?'

'Yes, Norrie, I hae brought ye some. Will ye tak' a bittie? See, here's a sweet bake, an' there's an oranger.'

Norrie shook his head, as he said, 'It's no for mysel' I speered; gie't to Willie-he maun be awfu' hungry. I've had a grand supper in a big room amang the braw folk, an' 'am fu', fu'.'

Mother and father exchanged glances-Norrie was wandering again. They bathed his head, and tried to lay him down on his pillow, but he resisted, saying with some energy:

'Na, na-I maunna lie doun-it's time to be awa’; will ye come, faither?' he asked, again clasping his father.

'Ay, Norrie. But whaur are ye gaun ?'

'Do ye no ken? Mither kens; an' she's gaun, an' Willie's gaun. Did ye no say that, mither?' and before she could answer, he sang:

The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.'

This scene quite unlocked the floodgates of sorrow. They all wept; but the mother seemed to be pierced with a thousand griefs, and moaned, like a tree which the storm is ravishing of its blossoms, O, my dear wee Norrie.'

6

The boy scanned them with a wild puzzled eye, which at last rested on his mother, and he said,

'Dinna, dinna greet, mither; ye'll aye hae Willie when I gang awa'.-Ye'll be a guid man to your mither, Willie; she's been aye kin' to you an' me; -an', faither, ye've been guid to us too-if God wad gie ye wark, an' ye'd aye hae meat to eat―gie us each day our daily bread, an' forgie us—forgie us

But he grew wilder, flung his arms about, and, after some farther struggles, sank down exhausted. His mother chafed his burning temples, and slowly soothed his agony and excitement into something like rest. This was greatly disturbed, however, for he continued to moan and mutter, and repeat notes

of songs and psalms, and bits of the prayers which his parents had taught him. Near midnight he again woke fully up, stared about, and cried,

'Willie, Willie !'

Willie, who was dozing lightly by the fire, started up and came to the bed, saying,

'Were ye speakin', Norrie ?'

'Put on your shoon, Willie, an' come awa'.'

Whaur, Norrie ?'

Down to the Green, to pu' gowans, an' stick them on thorns. Haste ye-come awa', afore the down.'

sun gaes

The boy leapt up, as if determined to be out; but his mother caught him in her arms, wailing in

his ear,

'Wait awee, Norrie, wait awee, dear; the sun's no up yet.'

The sun no up!' he exclaimed, laughing knowingly. Do ye no hear the laverock singin' in the sky?' and he turned his head, listening to the celestial minstrel singing in his frenzied imagination.

'Mither,' he said again, holding her affectionately by the neck, that maun be the sun, an' that's nae ither bird but the laverock, ye may say what ye like. Hear how he lilts!' Then pausing, he looked wistfully into his mother's face, and said, 'Hae ye sair een, mither? they're gayan red an' watery.'

Her eyes were scalded with tears.

'They're awee sair, Norrie, but they'll sin' be better.'

Dinna rub them sae muckle,' he said, and lay down in his bed, evidently weakened by his recent exertion. When he spoke again, his voice was thin and bodiless.

'I'm gaun to sleep, mither: will ye sing anither bit o' the sang for the last?'

Both the parents looked at the little patient with a sad feeling of hope that he might now get some repose. Jamie urged his wife to sing, as the boy had asked, and the loving mother sang, famishing and fainting with hunger as she was:

'Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean,

My soul langs to be free, Jean,
And angels wait for me

To the land o' the leal.'

Norrie crooned dreamily in response,

'And angels wait for me

To the land o' the leal.'

The mother sobbingly continued:

'Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean;
This warld's care is vain, Jean:
We'll meet and aye be fain

In the land o' the leal.'

In a still fainter voice Norrie wailed the two

words,

'We'll meet-'