[Illustration:  Old Scenes Revisited.]

The arrival of the family at Kirklands had taken place a few days earlier than was intended, so Jean had not happened to hear the news, and was all unconscious of the pleasure in store for her.  How often she had longed to see the “young leddy of Kirklands,” as she still called her, how many times she said to her husband that she would be sure to know her anywhere, though it was so many years since she had looked into her face.  But now, as Jean sat matron-like with her sewing, in front of her cottage, while her children played near, she wondered what “strange lady” could be coming along the path.  She called her straying little ones to her, in case they should be in the way, but she noticed that the stranger did not seem to think so, for she had just stopped kindly to stroke one little flaxen head, and Jean, with a mother’s pride, felt grateful that “her bairn should be respeckit among the rest.”  But when the lady, still holding the little boy’s hand, began to climb the mossy bank, and came towards her, Jean thought she had surely seen that face before.  Though not till Grace had smiled, and said, holding out her hand, “Jean, is it possible you do not know me?” did she recognise her old teacher.

“Oh, Miss Cam’ell, Miss Cam’ell!” she said, with a cry of delight as she dropped her mending and rose to meet her.  “Is it really yourself?  I canna believe my verra eyes.”

And when Grace gazed questioningly into the serene, beaming face of the little matron, she saw it had kept all that was best of its childish lineaments, and felt with thankful gladness that Geordie’s Shepherd had not forgotten little Jean.  Meanwhile the little loitering party came along the road, and seeing their mother engaged in conversation beside the pretty cottage door, they were eager to know who of all the old friends she was talking to.  Willie was the first to clamber up the mossy bank and reach the cottage.  The others were following, when he joined them with an expression of mingled interest and disappointment on his face.

“I say Walter—­Grace,—­can you guess who mamma is speaking to?  Well, it’s Geordie’s sister,—­little Jean.”

Then they all crept shyly near their mother while she talked at the cottage door, glancing with interest at the inmate.  But when little Grace could find an opportunity she whispered in a tone of disappointment, “Oh, mamma, is it really true what Willie says?” and then she added with a sigh, when Willie’s news had been confirmed, “Oh, I’m so sorry; I do wish she could have stayed a little girl.”

Her mother smiled at the childish idea; but she presently remembered that it was as the little herd-boy Geordie’s image still lived in her memory, though nearly twenty summers had come and gone since he entered on that life in which earthly days and years are merged into eternity, where the old and feeble renew their strength, and the young grow wiser than the wisest hero.