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Margaret returned to the parlor, and from the kitchen Jean could hear the heater tilted backward and forward in the box-iron a pleasant, homely sound when there is happiness in the house. Soon she heard a step outside, however, and it was followed by a rough shaking of the barred door. "Is it you, Mr. Dishart?" Jean asked nervously. "It's me, Tammas Whamond," the precentor answered.
"Now, John, be not so impatient," my mother replied, quite calmly, for in truth she was jealous of Lorna, "you could wait now, very well, John, if it were till this day week, for the coming of your mother, John. And yet your mother is your best friend. Who can ever fill her place?" Thinking of her future absence, mother turned away and cried; and the box-iron singed the blanket.
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