scented and sweet, with every desirable weed and tasty herb—­a land of life full and beautiful, of warm suns, calling up dreams from a blossoming mist of bluebells, creating the freshness and the happiness of youthfulness in every living thing.  A land where far vistas and wide horizons, bounded by green hills, brought visions from the inner self, with joyous abundance through lusty life, and glorious passionate being—­a land sweet and fruitful, and never-ending in its beauty and its means of happiness!

Slowly the days passed, and her strength gradually increased little by little, until a month had gone past, and she was able to be about the house again; but this determination in her heart to go home grew stronger with every day that passed, and it seemed to give her strength and vitality, and her hope became more definite and more sure.

She pictured her home again, as she had known it; the little kitchen, with its white scrubbed floor and a few newspapers spread over its newly washed surface to keep it clean from muddy feet; the white-washed jambs of the fireside, and the grate polished with blacklead; the clear-topped fender, with its inscription done in brass in the center, “Oor ain fireside”; the half-dozen strong sturdy, well-washed chairs; the whitewood dresser, with its array of dog ornaments and cheap vases, and white crocheted cover; and the curtains over the two beds in the kitchen.  All these things she loved to think about, and she saw them pictured in her mind as real as they’d ever been to her when her own life was centered in them, and her fancy took delight in these secret joys.  It was her home she saw always, the humble “but and ben” with the primitive conditions of life, the crude amenities, the sweet joys of simple unaffected people; but it was her home.

One day, Mrs. Ramsay had gone out on an errand that detained her some time, Mysie seized suddenly again in a more intense form by her desire to go home, feverishly dressed herself, and hastily scribbling a note of thanks to her good friend and nurse, she stole out on to the street, a poor, forlorn, weak girl, but thoroughly determined to go home to where her heart called her.

Out upon the street, she grew frightened.  She did not know anything about the city, nor in which direction to turn.  She had no idea how far it was to the station.  She was helpless and alone, and very much excited.

A boy passed her, whistling as she had often heard her own brothers whistling, and hastily calling to him she accosted him thus: 

“Could you tell me hoo far it is to the station?”

“Whit station?” asked the boy, and she suddenly remembered it was Princes Street, and mentioned it.  “Oh, ay; it’s no’ faur,” he said airily, as he pointed in the direction of it.  “Jist gang alang that way,” and he turned away as if to leave her.

“Wad you tak’ me to it, an’ I’ll gie you a shillin’?” she asked, and he eagerly turned at once to close the bargain.