She had been trying to puzzle him, he thought, but had failed!
‘Weel, the bonny man and you and me, we hae a’ the same father: that’s what maks us his ain fowk!—Ye see noo?’
‘Ay, I see! I see!’ responded Steenie, and again was silent.
Kirsty thought he had plenty now to meditate upon.
‘Are ye comin hame wi’ me,’ she asked, ‘or are ye gaein to bide, Steenie?’
‘I’ll gang hame wi’ ye, gien ye like, but I wud raither bide the nicht,’ he answered. ‘I’ll hae jist this ae nicht mair oot upo’ the hill, and syne the morn I’ll come hame to the hoose, and see gien I can help my mither, or maybe my father. That’s what the bonny man wud like best, I’m sure.’
Kirsty went home with a glad heart: surely Steenie was now in a fair way of becoming, as he phrased it, ‘like ither fowk’! ‘But the Lord’s gowk’s better nor the warl’s prophet!’ she said to herself.
CHAPTER XXII
THE HORN
The beginning of the winter had been open and warm, and very little snow had fallen. This was much in Phemy’s favour, and by the new year she was quite well. But, notwithstanding her heartlessness toward Steenie, she was no longer quite like her old self. She was quieter and less foolish; she had had a lesson in folly, and a long ministration of love, and knew now a trifle about both. It is true she wrote nearly as much silly poetry, but it was not so silly as before, partly because her imagination had now something of fact to go upon, and poorest fact is better than mere fancy. So free was her heart, however, that she went of herself to see her aunt at the castle, to whom, having beheld the love between David and his daughter, and begun to feel injured by the little notice her father took of her, she bewailed his indifference.
At Mrs. Bremner’s request she had made an appointment to go with her from the castle on a certain Saturday to visit a distant relative, living in a lonely cottage on the other side of the Horn—a woman too old ever to leave her home. When the day arrived, both saw that the weather gave signs of breaking, but the heavy clouds on the horizon seemed no worse than had often shown themselves that winter, and as often passed away. The air was warm, the day bright, the earth dry, and Phemy and her aunt were in good spirits. They had purposed to return early to Weelset, but agreed as they went that Phemy, the days being so short, should take the nearer path to Tiltowie, over the Horn. By this arrangement, their visit ended, they had no great distance to walk together, Mrs. Bremner’s way lying along the back of the hill, and Phemy’s over the nearer shoulder of it.