Lang they talked of it.  But they could came tae nae ither thought than that it was better to lose the bairn and gie him his chance to live and to grow up than to lose him by havin’ him dee.  Lose him they must, it seemed, and Jamie cried out against God, at last, and swore that there was no help, even though a man was ready and willing to work his fingers to the bone for wife and bairn.  And sae, wi’ the heaviest of hearts, he made his way to the doctor’s door and rang the bell.

“Weel, and ye and the wife are showing yer good sense,” said the doctor, heartily, when he heard what Jamie had to say.  “We’ll pull the wean through.  He’s of gude stock on both sides—­that’s why I want to adopt him.  I’ll bring a nurse round wi’ me tomorrow, come afternoon, and I’ll hae the papers ready for ye to sign, that give me the richt to adopt him as my ain son.  And when ye sign ye shall hae yer hundred pounds.”

“Ye—­ye can keep the siller, doctor,” said Jamie, suppressing a wish to say something violent. “’Tis no for the money we’re letting ye hae the wean—­’tis that ye may save his life and keep him in the world to hae his chance that I canna gie him, God help me!”

“A bargain’s a bargain, Jamie, man,” said the doctor, more gently than was his wont.  “Ye shall e’en hae the hundred pounds, for you’ll be needin’ it for the puir wife.  Puir lassie—­dinna think I’m not sorry for you and her, as well.”

Jamie shook his head and went off.  He could no trust himself to speak again.  And he went back to Annie wi’ tears in his een, and the heart within him heavy as it were lead.  Still, when he reached hame, and saw Annie looking at him wi’ such grief in her moist een, he could no bear to tell her of the hundred pounds.  He could no bear to let her think it was selling the bairn they were.  And, in truth, whether he was to tak’ the siller or not, it was no that had moved him.

It was a sair, dour nicht for Jamie and the wife.  They lay awake, the twa of them.  They listened to the breathing of the wean; whiles and again he’d rouse and greet a wee, and every sound he made tore at their heart strings.  They were to say gude-bye to him the morrow, never to see him again; Annie was to hold him in her mither’s arms for the last time.  Oh, it was the sair nicht for those twa, yell ken withoot ma tellin’ ye!

Come three o’ the clock next afternoon and there was the sound o’ wheels ootside the wee hoose.  Jamie started and looked at Annie, and the tears sprang to their een as they turned to the wean.  In came the doctor, and wi’ him a nurse, all starched and clean.

“Weel, Jamie, an’ hoo are the patients the day?  None so braw, Annie, I’m fearin’.  ’Tis a hard thing, my lassie, but the best in the end.  We’ll hae ye on yer feet again in no time the noo, and ye can gie yer man a bonnier bairn next time!  It’s glad I am ye’ll let me tak’ the wean and care for him.”

Annie could not answer.  She was clasping the bairn close to her, and the tears were running down her twa cheeks.  She kissed him again and again.  And the doctor, staring, grew uncomfortable.  He beckoned to the nurse, and she stepped toward the bed to take the wean from its mither.  Annie saw her, and held the bairn to Jamie.