“Where’s granny?” Geordie had whispered, and Elsie rose from her post at Geordie’s head and flitted away like a little noiseless ghost to find the old woman.  She met her at the farm, where, having finished her cup of tea, she was being shown some of Mistress Gowrie’s feathered favourites in the farmyard.

“Mistress Gowrie, he’s not better, as ye think; he says he’s dyin’, and wants to see granny,” Elsie said, with quivering lips, as she reached them.

“Dying, child, nonsense! what do you mean?” said the farmer’s wife, looking at Elsie to see if she was not dreaming.  But Elsie looked terribly wide-awake and sorrow-stricken, and Mistress Gowrie went off in search of her husband.

Then Granny Baxter began to perceive that there was something wrong, and presently Elsie succeeded in making her understand, and began to guide her slow steps to where her grandson still lay.  Oh, how slow they were, Elsie thought, as she glanced along the straight field path still to be crossed before they reached the knolls, and thought of what might be going on there.  But had not Geordie wanted to see his grandmother, and surely she might endure for him who had done so much for her?  So the little girl kept close by the old woman’s side, who leant her wrinkled hand on Elsie’s shoulder, while, with the help of her staff in the other, she hobbled along, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, groaning and muttering about this terrible blow that seemed likely to fall upon her.

“Granny, granny, I’ve been wearyin’ for you,” said Geordie, holding out both his hands, when at last Elsie’s patience had guided the old woman to the spot.  “Oh, but I’m no able to make her hear.  Nae words o’ mine can travel to her ear, and I had much to say to her,” Geordie cried, with a suppressed sob, as some terrible internal pain seemed to seize him.

The old woman had seated herself by his side, and her withered fingers wandered trembling among his hair, as she moaned helplessly, “Oh, laddie, laddie, what’s this that’s come upon us?”

Suddenly, Geordie seemed to remember something, and, smiling brightly, he feebly raised his hand to his jacket-pocket, and drew out the little chamois bag, containing the slowly-gathered store of money with which he intended to buy the ear-trumpet for his poor deaf granny.

“I gathered the last sixpence yestreen, for holding the minister’s horse,” he said, as he laid the bag in her hand, “It’s to buy a thing that makes deaf folk hear, granny.  But she can’t understand me, Miss Cam’ell,” he murmured, sadly, as he looked at Grace, who was leaning over him; “and, oh, I would have liked well to tell her before I go away about the Good Shepherd that you first told me about, Miss Cam’ell.  I dinna think she understands right what a Friend he can be to a body; and I’ve always been waitin’ till I got that horn for makin her hear to tell her all about him, for it’s no a thing that a body wad just like to roar at the tap o’ their voice.