“Come, Robert,” said Jean gently, “you must lie down for a wee bit now.”
“By the way, Rob,” laughed Souter reminiscently, “do ye mind the day——” He stopped short as Jean shook her head disapprovingly.
“He’s had a most exciting morning,” she exclaimed gently, “and needs rest now. He’ll be feeling more peart to-morrow,” and she held out her hand in dismissal.
“Ye mean get out, eh, Mistress?” said Souter good-naturedly. “Weel, weel, Souter Johnny can take a hint.”
“Come, Souter,” called Eppy from the open doorway, where she had been impatiently waiting for her bridegroom, “come with me to your—your new home,” and she bashfully held her fan over her face with a nervous little giggle.
“Aye, that I will,” replied Souter, with alacrity. He turned to Robert with a new air of dignity which set comically upon his little figure. “If we can do anything for ye, Robert, dinna’ forget to send over to MacDougall House. Dinna’ forget my address. Mrs. MacDougall, my arm.” She grabbed it quickly and they walked to the door. “God-day all,” he called over his shoulder, and with a feeling of great contentment, that at last his troubles were over, and that he was entering upon a new life of ease and plenty, he closed the door behind them, and trotted along beside his wife, grinning like a schoolboy, across the fields to their new home.
“Has the Posty come yet?” inquired Robert, after they had gone.
“Yes, but he brought no letter for ye,” answered Jean sadly.
The words of one of the verses of his “Ode to a Mouse,” came to him with gloomy presentiment.