"Ou! Annie, is that you, lassie? Come awa'," said Alec. "There's a fine heap o' spales ye can sit upo', and see what we're aboot."
And so saying he seated her on the shavings, and half-buried her with an armful more to keep her warm.
"Put to the door, Willie," he added. "She'll be cauld. She's no workin', ye see."
Whereupon Willie shut the door, and Annie found herself very comfortable indeed. There she sat, in perfect contentment, watching the progress of the boat—a progress not very perceptible to her inexperienced eyes, for the building of a boat is like the building of a city or the making of a book: it turns out a boat at last. But after she had sat for a good while in silence, she looked up at Alec, and said:
"Is there naething I can do to help ye, Alec?"
"Naething, Annie. Lassies canna saw or plane, ye ken. Ye wad tak' aff yer ain lugs in a jiffey."
Again she was silent for a long time; and then, with a sigh, she looked up and said:
"Alec, I'm so cauld!"
"I'll bring my plaid to row ye in the morn's nicht."
Annie's heart bounded for joy; for here was what amounted to an express invitation for to-morrow.