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THE AUTHOR'S DAUGHTER.

There were besides Tom Cross, who, with his leg well bandaged up, ate a good meal off a colonial sofa which stood at one end of the kitchen, and two travellers looking for work, who had got lodgings for the night and a morning meal before setting out again on their quest. All but our poor orphan brought heavy appetites with them; but Mrs. Lindsay's hospitable entreaties and offers of anything and every thing on the table could not induce Amy to eat more than would feed a mavis. Allan went out and fetched a few bunches of ripe grapes, a dozen of rosy peaches, and a little basket of figs from the garden. "Perhaps you could eat some of these," said he. "They are all cool, for the sun has not been on them; try something more than that poor cup of tea."

"Thir 'ill be the figs that's spoke of in Scripture," sid Donald McClure. "A' the figs that e'er I saw in the city of Glasgow was sauted wi' sugar, but thir's the green figs I'se warrant, and they grow in the garden here. It's a wonderful country this."

"Taste them, Donald," said Allan, and he handed him the basket. But the taste of figs to a novice is generally disappointing, and Donald expressed his opinion that though the green figs might make a good plaster for King Hezekiah, them that was sauted with sugar was better to