“You mean Allan’s son?”
“Ay,” answered Christine, “he’s a beauty, and he is sae clever, we’ll be needing a school, and the set o’ teachers in it, to keep the lad within the proper scope o’ knowledge. He’s a maist remarkable boy!”
“I used to fill that position,” said Neil.
“Not you,” said Margot. “You were a puir weakling, every way. It took everyone’s love and labor to bring you through. I’m not sure now, if you were worth it. It was scrimp and toil through long years for a’ the Rulesons.”
“I am not ungrateful, Mother, and I shall no doubt win a high degree.”
“We hae nae doubt you will, Neil. Dinna go as soon as you come. Feyther will be here anon.”
“I cannot keep Reginald waiting. I will try and see father as I return.”
So he went, and mother and sister looked at each other, and were silent. Margot opened and shut a drawer in the dresser, pushed the chair in which Neil had sat violently into its place, and then lifted a broom and flung it down with a force that is best explained by the word ‘temper.’ She felt unable to speak, and finally burst into passionate weeping, mingled with angry words.
“Oh, Mither! Mither! dinna tak’ on that way. It’s nae new thing. It’s just what we expectit. You hae looked it in the face many a time. Oh, I’m sae glad his feyther wasna here!”