"
Thus had motherhood sung in all ages, weaving the dreams of hope about
the soul which she had called from eternity, after having gone upon that
long perilous journey into the land of Everywhere to bring back a new
life to the world. Mysie dashed the warm tears from her eyes, and looked
again through the chink in the shutter.
She had a full view of the kitchen. It was the same cosy, bright place
it had always been, when she had sat there on the corner of the fender
o' nights, her head against her father's knee, as he read out the news
from the evening paper, while her mother sewed, or darned, or knitted.
Her father sat in the easy chair, pale and thin and weak. He looked ill,
and it seemed as if he were merely out of his bed, so that her mother
might change the linen, for she was busy pulling off pillow-cases and
putting clean ones on, and turning the chaff-filled tick to make it
easier for his poor bones to lie on.
He lay back in his chair, his eyes half closed, as if tired.
"The wind has surely gane doon noo," Mysie heard her mother observe, as
she spread out the clean white sheet upon the bed.
"Ay, it seems to hae quietened," returned Matthew weakly.
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