Katie was right.  When she had Elspie by her side, and was busily at work in helping on all the preparations for the wedding, the worst was over.  There was a strange blending of pang and pleasure in the work.  Katie wondered at herself; but it grew clearer and clearer to her each day that since Donald could not be hers she was glad he was Elspie’s.  “If he’d married a stranger it would ha’ broke my heart far worse, far worse,” she said many a time to herself as she sat patiently stitching, stitching, on Elspie’s bridal clothes.  “He’s my own in a way, after a’, so long’s he’s my brother.  There’s nobody can rob me o’ that.”  And the sweet light of unselfish devotion beamed more and more in her countenance, till even the mother that bore her was deceived, and said in her heart that Katie could not have been so very much in love with Donald after all.

There was one incident which for a few moments sorely tested Katie’s self-control.  The spray of white heather blossom which she had worn to the June picnic she had on the next day put back in her box of flowers for sale, hoping that she might yet find a customer for it.  The delicate bells were not injured either in shape or color.  It was a shame to lose it for one day’s wear, thought the thrifty Katie; and most surely she herself would never wear it again.  She could not even see it without a flush of mortification as she recalled Donald’s contempt for it.  The privileged Elspie, rummaging among all Katie’s stores, old and new, spied this white heather cluster one day, and snatching it up exclaimed:  “The very thing for my weddin’ bonnet, Katie!  I’ll have it in.  The bride o’ the master o’ the ‘Heather Bell’ should be wed with the heather bloom on her.”

Katie’s face flushed.  “It’s been worn, Elspie,” she said; “I had it in a bonnet o’ my own.  Don’t ye remember I wore it to the picnic? an’ then it didna suit, an’ I put it back in the box.  It’s not fit for ye.  I’ve a bunch o’ lilies o’ the valley, better.”

“No; I’ll have this,” pursued Elspie.  “It’s as white’s the driven snow, an’ not hurt at all.  I’m sure Donald’ll like it better than all the other flowers i’ the town.”

“Indeed, then, he won’t,” said Katie, sharply; on which Elspie turned upon her with a flashing eye, and said,—­

“An’ which ‘ll be knowin’ best, do ye think?  What is it ye mean?”

“Nothing,” said Katie, meekly; “only he said, that day I’d the bonnet on, it was no more than sticks, an’ not like the true heather at all.”

“All he knows, then!  Ye’ll see he’ll not say it looks like sticks when it’s on the bonnet I’m goin’ to church in,” retorted Elspie, dancing to the looking-glass, and holding the white heather bells high up against her golden curls.  “It’s the only flower in all yer boxes I want, Katie, and ye’ll not grudge it to me, will ye, dear?” And the sparkling Elspie threw herself on the floor by Katie, and flung her arms across her knees, looking up into her face with a wilful, loving smile.