“But ye’ll be thinking that what I have to tell is more important than Jeanie’s chest,” he replied, “though maybe as it’s to Jeanie’s advantage to keep you at it, I had better keep silence.”
“You’ll not then,” Agnes returned, pausing so suddenly that her thread broke off with a snap, “for not another turn do I make till I hear what you have to tell.”
David gave Jeanie a reassuring nod. “You’ll not have me keep it from her, Jean, when ye know what it is,” he said, “though it maybe will defraud your chest. It’s just this, Nancy: your mother and her bairns are on the road and must soon be here. I galloped on when I learned it.”
“My mother! My mother!” Agnes clasped her hands, and her cry went up like a shout of praise. Then without another word she ran from the house toward the road, tears of sudden joy filling her eyes.
“She made quick work with her heels,” said David, looking after her with amazement. Such swiftness of movement was beyond him.
“How does she know which way to go?” said Jeanie.
“There’s but the one, she thinks, and that toward the village. She’ll not miss them.”
“And did you see them, David?”
“I did.”
“Where were they?”