Davie went to meet him, and, before he spoke, Sandy saw, as Sallie had seen, that his father’s countenance was changed, and that something wonderful had happened.

“What is the matter, father?”

“Fifteen thousand dollars is the matter, my boy; and peace and comfort and plenty, and decent clothes and school for the children, and a happy home for us all in some nice country place.”

When Sandy heard this he kissed his father, and then covering his face with his hands, sobbed out: 

“Thank God! thank God!”

It was late that night before either the children or the elders could go to sleep.  Davie told them first of the farm that Sandy and he were going to buy together, and then he said to his son: 

“Now, my dear lad, what think you is best for Sallie and the children?”

“You say, father, that the village where you are going is likely to grow fast.”

“It is sure to grow.  Two lines of railroad will pass through it in a month.”

“Then I would like to open a carpenter’s shop there.  There will soon be work enough; and we will rent some nice little cottage, and the children can go to school, and it will be a new life for us all.  I have often dreamed of such a chance, but I never believed it would come true.”

But the dream came more than true.  In a few weeks Davie and his brother were settled in their new home, and in the adjoining village Alexander Morrison, junior, had opened a good carpenter and builder’s shop, and had begun to do very well.

Not far from it was the coziest of old stone houses, and over it Sallie presided.  It stood among great trees, and was surrounded by a fine fruit garden, and was prettily furnished throughout; besides which, and best of all, it was their own—­a New Year’s gift from the kindest of grandfathers and uncles.  People now have got well used to seeing the Brothers Morrison.

They are rarely met apart.  They go to market and to the city together.  What they buy they buy in unison, and every bill of sale they give bears both their names.  Sandy is the ruling spirit, but Davie never suspects, for Sandy invariably says to all propositions, “If my brother David agrees, I do,” or, “If brother David is satisfied, I have no more to say,” etc.

Some of the villagers have tried to persuade them that they must be lonely, but they know better than that.  Old men love a great deal of quiet and of gentle meandering retrospection; and David and Sandy have each of them forty years’ history to tell the other.  Then they are both very fond of young Sandy and the children.

Sandy’s projects and plans and building contracts are always well talked over at the farm before they are signed, and the children’s lessons and holidays, and even their new clothes, interest the two old men almost as much as they do Sallie.

As for Sallie, you would scarcely know her.  She is no longer cross with care and quarrelsome with hunger.  I always did believe that prosperity was good for the human soul, and Sallie Morrison proves the theory.  She has grown sweet tempered in its sunshine, is gentle and forbearing to her children, loving and grateful to her father-in-law, and her husband’s heart trusts in her.