"In the Shetland Islands. Whiles I fear they have been shut in there by early storms, or have gone out pleasuring in some cockle shell of a boat and got——"
"No, no, Aunt. I had a letter from Perth. They were on the mainland the seventh of September."
"Then they are all right. Some day soon they'll come traipsing in, wet and draggled, and tired and hungry."
"They will not come here, will they?"
"I hope not. It is little welcome I'll give them if they come after this house is in order. They would have to go to the kitchen itself."
"You would never do that, Aunt?"
"Would I not? If the occasion comes you will see."
The occasion came that afternoon. Mrs. Caird was standing before a large chest of fine napery, counting napkins, when Donald threw open the door of the room and, before she could speak, threw his arms around her neck and kissed her, and kissed her over and over again. "You dear Auntie! You dear Mammy!" he shouted, and she, between laughing and crying, gasped out: "Be done, you ranting, raving laddie! See you have made me drop the finger cloths, and my count is lost; and I shall have to go over them again."
"I'll count them for you, Mammy."
"You!" she ejaculated with horror. "Your hands are not fit to touch them."