“Aye, and gude, hard sense it is, too, Jamie, man.  I know it sounds dour and hard.  It’s a sair thing to be giving up your ain flesh and blood.  But think o’ the bairn, man!  Through no fault o’ your ain, through misfortune that’s come upon ye, ye can no gie him the care he needs to keep him alive.  Wad ye rather see him dead or in my care?  Think it ower, man.  I’ll gie ye two days to think and to talk it ower wi’ the wife.  And—­I’m tellin’ ye’re a muckle ass and no the sensible man I’ve thought ye if ye do not say aye.”

The doctor did no wait for Jamie to answer him.  He was a wise man, that doctor; he knew how Jamie wad be feelin’ just then, and he turned away.  Sure enough, Jamie was ready to curse him and bid him keep his money.  But when he was left alone, and walked home, slowly, thinking of the offer, he began to see that love for the wean urged him nigh as much to accept the offer as to reject it.

It was true, as the doctor had said, that it was better for the bairn to live and grow strong and well than to dee and be buried.  Wad it no be selfish for Jamie, for the love he had for his first born, to insist on keeping him when to keep him wad mean his death?  But there was Annie to think of, too.  Wad she be willing?  Jamie was sair beset.  He didna ken how to think, much less what he should be doing.

It grieved him to bear such an offer to Annie, so wan and sick, puir body.  He thought of not telling her.  But when he went in she was sair afraid the doctor had told him the bairn could no live, and to reassure her he was obliged to tell just why the doctor had called him oot wi’ him.

“Tak’ him away for gude and a’, Jamie?” she moaned, and looked down at the wailing mite beside her.  “That’s what he means?  Oh, my bairn—­my wean——!”

“Aye, but he shall not!” Jamie vowed, fiercely, dropping to his knees beside the bed, and putting his arms about her.  “Dinna fash yersel’, Annie, darling.  Ye shall keep your wean—­our wean.”

“But it’s true, what the doctor said, that it wad be better for our bairn, Jamie——­”

“Oh, aye—­no doot he meant it in kindness and weel enow, Annie.  But how should he understand, that’s never had bairn o’ his own to twine its fingers around one o’ his?  Nor seen the licht in his wife’s een as she laid them on her wean?”

Annie was comforted by the love in his voice, and fell asleep.  But when the morn came the bairn was worse, and greetin’ pitifully.  And it was Annie herself who spoke, timidly, of what the doctor had offered.  Jamie had told her nothing of the hundred pounds; he knew she would feel as he did, that if they gave up the bairn it wad be for his ain sake, and not for the siller.

“Oh, Jamie, my man, I’ve been thinkin’,” said puir Annie.  “The wean’s sae sick!  And if we let the doctor hae him he’d be well and strong.  And it micht be we could see him sometimes.  The doctor wad let us do sae, do ye nae think it?”