A. L. O. E.'s picture story book.

by A. L. O. E.

"Struggle! I should say so!" cried Janet, looking more flushed and angry than ever. "We never could have got on at all, had I not taken in washing and ironing; and it's no such easy matter, I can tell you, to wash and iron line things for the gentry with twin-babies a-wanting you to look after them every hour in the twenty-four!"

It seemed as if the babies had heard themselves mentioned, for from the rude cradle by the fire came a squall, first from one child, and then from both, and poor Janet was several minutes before she could get either of them quiet again.

"You've a busy life of it indeed," observed Bridget, as soon as the weary mother was able once more to take up her iron.

"'Deed you may say so," replied Janet sharply, plying her iron faster, as if to make up for lost time. "And for all my working, and Tam's, we can scarce get enough of bread or porridge to fill nine hungry mouths; and as for meat, we don't see it for weeks and weeks—not so much as a slice of bacon! Then there's the schooling of the twa eldest bairns to be paid for, as Tam and I won't ha'e them grow up like heathen savages; and we'll hae them gae decent too, not in rags and barefooted, like beggars. And I should like to know—" Janet was ironing fast, but talking faster—"I should like to know how shoon [shoes] and sarks [shirts], and a plaidie for this ane, and a bonnet for anither, and breakfasts o' bannocks, and porridge for supper, are a' to come out of that wash-tub?"

"And yet," observed Bridget Macbride, "hard as you have to work for your children, I don't believe that you would willingly part with one of them, neighbour."

Even as she spoke, there was a distressful cry of "Mither! Mither!" as Janet's two eldest children burst suddenly into the cottage, looking unhappy and frightened.

"What ails the bairns?" asked Janet anxiously, turning round at the cry.

"O mither, we've lost wee Davie; we can't find him nowhere in the wood, and we be afeard as he may have fallen over the cliff."

"Davie! My bairn! My darling!" exclaimed poor Janet, forgetting in a moment all her toils and troubles in one terrible fear. Down went the iron on the table, and without waiting to put on bonnet or shawl, the fond mother rushed out of the cottage, to go and search for her child. Bridget had spoken the truth; Janet might complain of the trouble brought by a large family, but she could not bear to part with one out of her flock. If Davie had been the only child of a rich mother, instead of the seventh child of a poor one, he could not have been sought with more eager anxiety, more tender, self-forgetting love.

Followed by several of her children, but outstripping them all in her haste, Janet was soon at the edge of the wood. "Davie! Davie! My bairn! My bairn!" resounded through the forest. The mother's cry was answered by a distant whoop and halloo;—Janet knew the voice of her husband, and her heart took courage from the sound. But her hope was changed into delight, when she caught a glimpse between the trees of the shepherd coming towards her, with her little yellow-haired laddie Davie perched on his broad shoulders, grasping with one hand his father's rough locks, and with the other a bannock, which he was nibbling at as he rode.