Glad I am that we had the fire laid and a wheen o' dry logs ready to yer hand." She evidently felt the cold air coming from the window, for she went over and drew the curtain.

When she saw the open window, she raised her hands in a sort of dismay, which to me, knowing how little base for concern could be within her knowledge, was comic.

Hurriedly she shut the window, and then, coming close over to my bed, said: "Yon has been a fearsome nicht again, laddie, for yer poor auld aunty." "Dreaming again, Aunt Janet ?" I asked--rather flippantly as it seemed to me.

She shook her head: "Not so, Rupert, unless it be that the Lord gies us in dreams what we in our spiritual darkness think are veesions." I roused up at this.

When Aunt Janet calls me Rupert, as she always used to do in my dear mother's time, things are serious with her.