“I do not trust John Forbes.”
“Neither do I,” she answered quickly, “it is little he knows of the English law about any matter. What will you do then?”
“Go to a Councillor, who never yet deceived me.”
“I understand, but I’m not sure if that is right, Amelia. Going to God about chairs and tables, and the like of such things is not at all respectful.”
“We are told to pray about our bread and clothing, because ‘God knows we have need of such things.’”
“Your own way, be it. Tell Robert I am willing to help—if needs be.”
“There will be no need, Mother.”
“You’re a queer woman.” She rose as she spoke, and said 119 it would soon be dark, and she must hurry, for lots of drunken men and women would be on the streets seeing it was the New Year. Then I fastened her cloak and furs, and said,
“Kiss me, Mother.”
A look of the uttermost discomfiture and confusion came into her face. She hesitated, and fingered her bonnet strings, but finally bent her head slightly, and allowed me to kiss her. Then suddenly I recollected that the family kiss was a thing practically unknown in Scotch households, and that Robert had more than once told me that he never remembered his mother kissing him, in all his life. But the momentary disconcertion passed, and I believed I had won a step in the old lady’s favor, and I was glad of it, for she had some excellencies, and her faults were the faults of race, education, and life-long habit and experiences.