here--"

"Well," said the doctor, "mind that a letter will always be welcome,
and when you are coming southwards, here are your old quarters. We
cannot lose sight of you anyway, especially"--and his voice quivered--
"after the help you gave my poor boys and girls in their distress."

"It would be the utmost satisfaction to think I had been of the
smallest use," said Alan, hiding much under these commonplace words.

"More than I know," said Dr. May; "too much to speak of. Well, we
shall see you again, though it is a changed place, and you must come
and see your god-daughter--poor child--may she only be brought up as
her sisters were! They will do their best, poor things, and so must
I, but it is sad work!"

Both were too much overcome for words, but the doctor was the first
to continue, as he took off his dimmed spectacles. He seemed to wish
to excuse himself for giving way; saying, with a look that would fain
have been a smile, "The world has run so light and easy with me
hitherto, that you see I don't know how to bear with trouble. All
thinking and managing fell to my Maggie's share, and I had as little
care on my hands as one of my own boys--poor fellows. I don't know
how it is to turn out, but of all the men on earth to be left with
eleven children, I should choose myself as the worst."

Alan tried to say somewhat of "Confidence--affection--daughters," and
broke down, but it did as well as if it had been connected.

"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "they are good children every one of