"Come, an' ye'll see," was all the answer.

She ran down to the pier.

There was poor Flucker lying on his back; he had slipped from the pier into a boat that lay alongside; the fall was considerable; for a minute he had been insensible, then he had been dreadfully sick, and now he was beginning to feel his hurt; he was in great anguish; nobody knew the extent of his injuries; he would let nobody touch him; all his cry was for his sister.

At last she came; they all made way for her; he was crying for her as she came up.
"My bairn! my bairn!" cried she, and the poor little fellow smiled, and tried to raise himself toward her.
She lifted him gently in her arms--she was powerful, and affection made her stronger; she carried him in her arms all the way home, and laid him on her own bed.

Willy Liston, her discarded suitor, ran for the surgeon.
There were no bones broken, but his ankle was severely sprained, and he had a terrible bruise on the loins; his dark, ruddy face was streaked and pale; but he never complained after he found himself at home.
Christie hovered round him, a ministering angel, applying to him with a light and loving hand whatever could ease his pain; and he watched her with an expression she had never noticed in his eye before.
At last, after two hours' silence, he made her sit in full view, and then he spoke to her; and what think you was the subject of his discourse?
He turned to and told her, one after another, without preface, all the loving things she had done to him ever since he was five years old.