“He’s comin’! he’s comin’!” suddenly exclaimed the voice of Mrs. Burns from within the cottage. “My lad is comin’! Out of my way, ye skellum!” and out she ran, her face aglow with love and excitement, followed by Souter, who was shouting gleefully, “He’s comin’! he’s comin’! Robbie’s comin’!” and off he sped in her footsteps, to meet the returned wanderer.
“It’s Robbie! it’s Robbie!” cried Mary joyously, her nerves a-quiver, as she heard the vociferous outburst of welcome from the lads, who were bringing him in triumph to his very door.
“Welcome hame, laddie!” shouted the crowd, as they came across the field, singing, laughing and joking like schoolboys on a frolic.
“Oh, I canna’, I darena’ meet him before them a’,” she exclaimed aloud, blushing rosily, frightened at the thought of meeting him before the good-natured country folk.
She would wait till they all went away, and, turning, she ran into the house like a timid child. Quickly she hid behind the old fireplace, listening shyly, as she heard them approach the open door.
“Thank ye, lads, for your kind welcome,” said Robert as he reached the threshold, one arm around his mother. “I didna’ ken I had left so many friends in Mossgiel,” and he looked around gratefully at the rugged faces that were grinning broadly into his.
“Come doon to the Inn and hae a wee nippie for auld lang syne,” sang out Sandy MacPherson, with an inviting wave of the hand.
“Nay, an’ he’ll not gang a step, Sandy MacPherson,” cried Mrs. Burns indignantly, clinging closely to her son.
“Nay, I thank ye, Sandy,” laughingly replied Robert. “Ye must excuse me to-night. I’ll see ye all later, and we’ll have a lang chat o’er auld times.”
“Come awa’ noo, Robert,” said Mrs. Burns lovingly, “an’ I’ll get ye a bite and a sup,” and she drew him into the house.