"Never mind, Tam," I heard her say, "Aw'll aye see ye at the station, ilka mornin' and nicht."
"We'll get merried when Aw'm station mester, Vi," said Tom hopefully, and she smiled and blushed.
Poor Tom! I'm sorry for you my lad. In three years you will be carrying her luggage, and she won't take any notice of you, for she is a lawyer's daughter.
Confound realism!
Once I felt as Tom feels. I loved a farmer's daughter, and I suffered untold agony when she told me that her father's lease expired in seventeen years.
"Then we're flittin' to Glesga," she said, and I was wretched for a week. She was ten then; now she is the mother of four.
Annie and her seventeen years reminds me of the professor who was lecturing on Astronomy to a village audience.
"In seven hundred million years, my friends," he said solemnly, "the sun will be a cold body like the moon. There will be no warmth on earth, no light, no life ... nothing."
A chair was pushed back noisily at the back of the hall, and a big farmer got up in great agitation.
"Excuse me, mister, but hoo lang did ye say it wud be till that happened?"