"There is naething wrang, then?"
"It is an astonishment—the lad has sold all he had and gone to Scotland. When he can find a small estate that suits him, he thinks o' buying it, and becoming 'Semple o' that Ilk.' Alexander aye had a hankering after land."
"He has the siller, I suppose; there is no land given awa in Scotland."
"Alexander wasn't born yesterday. He has been sending siller to England ever since the first whisper o' these troubles. Ten years ago, he told me the Stamp Act riots spelt Revolution and maybe Independence; and that in such case the best we could hope for would be a dozen or mair states, each with its ain rights and privileges and government; and a constant war between them. He is a far-seeing lad, is Alexander."
"I think little o' his far sight. There are others who see further and clearer: petty states and constant war! Na, na! It's not so written."
"Perhaps he is right, Janet."
"Perhaps is a wide word, Alexander. Perhaps he is wrang. Has he sailed yet? And pray, what is to become of the little Maria?"
"He sailed a week since—and Maria is coming to us."
"Coming to us! And what will we do wi' the lassie?"
"We'll just hae to love and comfort her. In a way she has neither father nor mother—the one being in the grave and the other beyond seas. She may be a pleasure to our auld age; when she was here last she was a bonnie, lovesome little creature."