Luckily, the agent of the estate, being a man of kindly feelings, was willing to allow the poor woman to remain for a time in the cottage they had occupied, and Val had approached the proprietor on the subject of a pension.  At present, however, beyond a liberal donation for Christian’s benefit, nothing definite had been settled.  We had all subscribed to buy her a sewing-machine, and as she was a clever seamstress she was able to make ends meet by dressmaking.  She had her cow, and her few hens, so altogether, with the sale of eggs and occasionally of milk, she was able to provide for her little ones for the present.  She was such a cheery, kindly little body that every one at Ardmuirland was her friend; this accounted in great measure for the unusual interest in her prospects.

I felt that it would be but neighborly to offer Christian my congratulations upon her approaching good fortune.  Her little house stood near a belt of trees on a rising ground, a few feet from the road that led higher up the hill.  No other habitation was within a mile of it, and its solitary position was quite enough by itself to suggest to any one that a man who had made money across the “drink”—­as I heard an American once irreverently style the Atlantic—­would scarcely be likely to stay for any considerable time in such an out-of-the-world spot.  To my mind it seemed incredible that he could be content for long with the comparative luxury of Mrs. Dobie’s inn.

Christian sat at her machine in her clean little kitchen when I arrived there, and she called to me cheerily through the open doorway to enter, and rose to receive me.  She was a plain little woman, about forty years old, probably; she bore the marks of her many anxieties on her brow—­too early scored with wrinkles.  I could not help thinking, as I saw her, that no fine clothes that her rich relative might buy for her would ever make her anything else than a plain country body; in silks and satins, even, she would still be the same homely Christian.

“I came over to say how glad I am to hear of your good fortune,” I said when the usual greetings had passed, and I was seated in the chair of state by the fire—­for the hillside was chilly, and fires were seldom wanting up there even in the summer weather.

“Thank you kindly, sir,” was her answer.  “Father Fleming was in himself yesterday, for the same reason.  It is very good of the priest and yourself, sir, as well as our neighbors aboot, to take sic an interest in us.  Indeed, I’m very thankful that God has been sae guid to us.  It looks as though our troubles are coming to an end, with this guid news!”

“When do you expect your cousin?” I asked.

Christian took a letter from the mantelpiece, where a china dog had been guarding it.

“This is his last letter, sir,” she said, with a touch of honest pride, as she handed it to me to read.  “You will see what he says.  He was to sail on the 14th, and that was about a fortnight ago.  Mistress Dobie had a message to say that he would be there about the first of June.  He has business in Glasgow, which will keep him there a bit.”