"Oh dear, I do wonder what it is! But there's the house at last, and dear old Lisbeth's round smiling face, and my darling Silky. Oh, it is good to be at home again!" And Marjory nestled close to her uncle for a moment, and then sprang out of the cart and began hugging Lisbeth in the most boisterous fashion.
But who was this standing shyly in the background? Here was indeed a surprise. This girl with the smooth sleek head, the neat gown and spotless apron and cap, could it be Mary Ann Smylie, the rich miller's daughter? Yes, indeed it was. But what could it mean? Quite bewildered, Marjory held out her hand to the girl. "I am glad to see you, Mary Ann," she said.
Tears were in Mary Ann's eyes as she replied, "Thank you, Miss Marjory; I'm very glad to be here." And she disappeared at once in the direction of the kitchen.
"This is a surprise," said Marjory, looking inquiringly at her uncle and then at Lisbeth. Each seemed to expect the other to speak.
"Weel, it was this way," began Lisbeth. "Yon puir lassie's feyther, no content wi' bein' just a plain man like ony ither miller, must needs try to mak a big fortune, and some o' thae speculatin' deils—I canna ca' them by ony ither name—got hand o' the auld man, an' ae fine day his fortune's awa—the vera hoose he's livin' in no his ain, a' signed awa, an' he in debt. His puir silly wife was clean dementit, an' this girl wi' naething but her buik-learnin' an' sic like rubbish to stand by. There was naebody wantit her to teach their bairns, and yon grandee o' a schulemistress telt the puir lassie she wasna competent for teachin', an' that efter a' the guid money her feyther had spent upo' her learnin'. Weel, Mary Ann she comes to me, an' says, 'Will ye gie me wark at Hunters' Brae?' says she. 'The doctor's awa,' says I, but she begged that hard I couldna say no to the creature. 'I'm willin' to learn,' says she, 'an' if so's I could wait upo' Miss Marjory I'd be more nor set up.' She cried sae, and looked that peekit an' meeserable, I hadna the heart to send her off, sae I e'en kept her here, thinkin' the doctor, guid man, wouldna blame me for the bit she ate an' drank till he cam hame."
"Yes," put in the doctor, "when I got back yesterday I found Mary Ann comfortably settled. I suppose she thought that if she had won over Lisbeth the rest was easy," laughing. "I'm sorry for the girl, and I dare say she can be made useful here in many ways. As you are getting on, Marjory, it will be nice for you to have a maid of your own to look after your fallals; but the question is, Do you like the girl well enough to have her about you? This is your home, and I don't want to insist upon anything that would be unpleasant to you."
Marjory remembered her old grudge against Mary Ann, but she could hardly connect the quiet, subdued person who had just disappeared, weeping, with the frizzy-haired, overdressed, and affected girl at the post office.
"Poor Mary Ann! Let her stay, uncle. I'm sure we shall get on quite well."
"That's settled then," said the doctor, with relief. He had been a little afraid that Lisbeth's philanthropy might not be quite to Marjory's liking.
Dr. Hunter was strangely restless that evening—sad and merry by turns. Marjory herself felt very excited as she thought of the morrow.