“I would do onything in reason for the Lord’s sake, an’ He distinctly called me, but I’m no conscious of any special call to pit myself forward in this work. Sae just shut up the house, Jenny, woman, and come away to bed. And I’ll no open again this night to man or woman, saint or devil, so there, now!” growled old Andy.
“I’se shut the door, but I’se nae shut the window. And I’se no gaun to bed this night, I’se sit up and show a light, if the poor wandering lassie behooves to come back,” said Mrs. Birney, firmly, as she fastened the door, and sat the lantern on the little stand under the window, with the light turned towards the road.
“The more fool you,” observed Mr. Birney, as he began to draw off his stockings, and prepare himself for his bed, that stood conveniently near, in a recess curtained off from the other portion of the room.
Mrs. Birney drew her spinning wheel to the chimney corner nearest the window, where she had placed the light, and she sat down and began to spin.
“Ye’ll no be whirling that machine and keeping me awake, Jenny, woman!” expostulated the old man as he got into bed.
“But if I maun sit up, I maun na lose my time.”
“Then knit or sew.”
She good-humoredly put aside her wheel and took from the top of the corner cupboard her work-basket half filled with woolen socks, which she sat down to darn.
Old Andy was soon snoring under his blankets.
Jenny sat darning and sighing, and occasionally peering through the window into the darkness without. The violence of the storm seemed to be subsiding, though still it rained heavily.