Before Mrs Forbes could reply, the white mutch of Mrs Constable appeared over the top of the snow that walled the path. She was in hot pursuit of her child, whose footsteps she had traced. When shown into the dining-room, she rushed up to her, and caught her to her bosom, crying,
"Ye ill-contrived smatchit! What hae ye been aboot, rinnin' awa' this gait? I wonner ye wasna droont i' the Glamour."
"I don't see what better you could expect of your own child, Mrs Constable, if you go spreading reports against other people's children," said Mrs Forbes bitterly.
"It's a lee whaever said sae," retorted Mrs Constable fiercely. "Wha tell't ye that?"
"Where else could your child have heard such reports, then?"
"Isie! Isie! My poor wee bairn! What hae ye been aboot to tak' awa' yer mither's gude name?"
And she hugged the child closer yet.
Isie hung down her head, and began to have dim perceptions that she might have been doing mischief with the best possible intentions.
"I only tell't Mistress Forbes hoo ill they war to Alec."
After a moment's reflection, Mrs Constable turned with a subdued manner to Mrs Forbes.