“Weel, I hae naething against Willie Tamsen. He never meddled wi’ my flowers, or stole my berries. I hope he’ll get the claes. And there was to be three prizes?”
“Ay, one for the lads and lasses from eight to 192 eleven years old, that takes in a large pairt o’ the school. The bigger lads and lasses will come in the autumn, when the herrin’ hae been, and gane.”
“I’m not asking anything anent that class. I dinna envy the schoolmaster and mistress that will hae them to manage. They’ll hae their hands fu’, or my name isna Margot Ruleson. Wha will get the third prize?”
“Our Jamie. And he has weel won it. Jamie isna a lad o’ the common order. The Domine says he’ll mak’ the warld sit up and listen to him, when he comes to full stature.”
“The Domine is as silly anent the bairn, as you are. After my ain lad, Neil, I’m expecting naething oot o’ the Nazareth o’ Culraine. We were a’ going to shout o’er Neil Ruleson—weel, we hae had our cry, and dried our eyes, and hae gane on our way again.”
“Neil has done weel—considering.”
“Gudeman, we hae better drop that ‘consideration.’ I was talking o’ our Jamie. What are they going to gie our second wonder o’ a bairn?”
“The maist beautiful book you ever saw—a big copy of Robinson Crusoe fu’ o’ pictures, and bound in blue wi’ gold lettering. The bairn will hae wonder after wonder wi’ it.”
“Did you buy the book?”
“Not I. What mak’s you ask that information?”