"God help thee, my son! He can help when worldly trust is a broken
reed."--Such was the welcome of the matron to her unfortunate grandson.
He looked eagerly round, holding two of his sisters by the hand, while
the third hung about his neck--"I see you--I count you--my grandmother,
Lilias, Jean, and Annot; but where is--" (he hesitated, and then
continued, as if with an effort), "Where is Grace? Surely this is not a
time to hide hersell frae me--there's nae time for daffing now."
"O, brother!" and "Our poor Grace!" was the only answer his questions
could procure, till his grandmother rose up, and gently disengaged
him from the weeping girls, led him to a seat, and with the affecting
serenity which sincere piety, like oil sprinkled on the waves, can throw
over the most acute feelings, she said, "My bairn, when thy grandfather
was killed in the wars, and left me with six orphans around me, with
scarce bread to eat, or a roof to cover us, I had strength,--not of mine
own--but I had strength given me to say, The Lord's will be done!--My
son, our peaceful house was last night broken into by moss-troopers,
armed and masked; they have taken and destroyed all, and carried off our
dear Grace.
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