flaxen-haired Scotch girls who are far from pretty even in youth, and in middle age sometimes grow quite coarse and plain.  She would not do so, and did not; for any body so good, so sweet, so bright, must always carry about with her, even to old age, something which, if not beauty’s self, is beauty’s atmosphere, and which often creates, even around unlovely people, a light and glory as perfect as the atmosphere round the sun.

She took her seat—­her poor mother’s that used to be—­at the head of the Manse table—­which was a little quieter on Sundays than week-days, and especially this Sunday, when the children were all awed and shy before their new visitor.  Helen had previously taken them all aside, and explained to them that they were not to notice any thing in the earl that was different from other people—­that he was a poor little crippled boy who had neither father, mother, brother, nor sister, that they were to be very kind to him, but not to look at him much, and to make no remarks upon him on any account whatever.

And so, even though he was placed on baby’s high chair, and fed by Malcolm almost as if he were a baby—­he who, though no bigger than a baby, was in reality a boy of ten years old, whom papa talked to, and who talked with papa almost as cleverly as Helen herself—­still the Manse children were so well behaved that nothing occurred to make any body uncomfortable.

For the little earl, he seemed to enjoy himself amazingly.  He sat in his high chair, and looked round the well-filled table with mingled curiosity and amusement; inquired the children’s names, and was greatly interested in the dog, the cat, a rabbit, and two kittens, which after dinner they successively brought to amuse him.  And then he invited them all to the Castle next day, and promised to take them over his garden there.

“But how can you take us?” said the youngest, in spite of Helen’s frown.  “We can run about, but you—­”

“I can’t run about, that is true; but I have a little carriage, and Malcolm draws it, or Malcolm carries me, and then I can see such a deal.  I used to see nothing—­only lie on a sofa all day, and have doctors coming about me and hurting me,” added the poor little earl, growing confidential, as one by one the boys slipped away, leaving him alone with Helen.

“Did they hurt you very much:”  asked she.

“Oh, terribly; but I never told.  You see, there was no use in telling; it could not be helped, and it would only have made nurse cry—­she always cries over me.  I think that is why I like Malcolm; he always helps me, and he never cries.  And I am getting a great boy now; I was ten years old last week.”

Ten years old, though he seemed scarcely more than five, except by the old look of his face.  But Helen took no notice, only saying “that she hoped the doctors did not hurt him now.”

“No, that is all over.  Dr Hamilton says I am to be left to Nature, whatever that is; I overheard him say it one day.  And I begged of Mr. Menteith not to shut me up any longer, or take me out only in my carriage, but to let me go about as I like, Malcolm carrying me—­ isn’t he a big, strong fellow?  You can’t think how nice it is to be carried about, and see every thing—­oh, it makes me so happy!”