“It is; but some folks won’t see the truth, though they are dashing their noses against it. None so blind as they who won’t see.”
“Well, it isn’t within my right to speak to-day.”
“Yes, it is. It is your right and place to speak all the good and hopeful words you can think of. Don’t be dour, Andrew. Man! man! how hard it is to rejoice with them that do rejoice! It takes more Christianity to do that than most folks carry around with them.”
“Mother, you are a perfectly unreasonable woman. You flyte at me, as if I was a laddie of ten years old—but I’ll not dare to say but what you do me a deal of good;” and Andrew’s face brightened as he looked at her.
“You would hardly do the right thing, if I didn’t flyte at you, Andrew. And maybe I wouldn’t do it myself, if I was not watching you; having nobody to scold and advise is very like trying to fly a kite without wind. Go to the door and call in Jamie and Christina. We ought to take an interest in their bit plans and schemes; and if we take it, we ought to show we take it.”
Then Andrew rose and went to the open door, and as he went he laid his big hand on his mother’s shoulder, and a smile flew from face to face, and in its light every little shadow vanished. And Jamie was glad to bring in his promised bride, and among her own people as they eat together, talk over the good that had come to them, and the changes that were incident to it. And thus an hour passed swiftly away, and then “farewells” full of love and hope, and laughter and tears, and hand-clasping, and good words, were said; and Jamie went off to his new life, leaving a thousand pleasant hopes and expectations behind him.
After he was fairly out of sight, and Christina stood looking tearfully into the vacancy where his image still lingered, Andrew led her to the top of the cliff, and they sat down together. It was an exquisite afternoon, full of the salt and sparkle of the sea; and for awhile both remained silent, looking down on the cottages, and the creels, and the drying nets. The whole village seemed to be out, and the sands were covered with picturesque figures in sea-boots and striped hanging caps, and with the no less picturesque companion figures in striped petticoats. Some of the latter were old women, and these wore high-crowned, unbordered caps of white linen; others were young women, and these had no covering at all on their exuberant hair; but most of them displayed long gold rings in their ears, and bright scarlet or blue kerchiefs round their necks. Andrew glanced from these figures to his sister; and touching her striped petticoat, he said:—
“You’ll be changing this for what they call a gown, when you go to Glasgow! How soon is that to be, Christina?”
“When Jamie has got well settled in his place. It wouldn’t be prudent before.”
“About the New Year, say?”