Turkey thrust the poker in the fire; but Kirsty snatched it out, threw it down, and boxed his ears, which rough proceeding he took with the pleasantest laugh in the world. Kirsty could do what she pleased, for she was no tyrant. She turned to us.
“Hush!” she said, hurriedly, with a twinkle in her eyes that showed the spirit of fun was predominant—“Hush!—Don’t speak, wee Davie,” she continued, as she rose and carried him from the kitchen into the passage between it and the outer door. He was scarcely awake.
Now, in that passage, which was wide, and indeed more like a hall in proportion to the cottage, had stood on its end from time immemorial a huge barrel, which Kirsty, with some housewifely intent or other, had lately cleaned out. Setting Davie down, she and Turkey lifted first me and popped me into it, and then Allister, for we caught the design at once. Finally she took up wee Davie, and telling him to lie as still as a mouse, dropped him into our arms. I happened to find the open bung-hole near my eye, and peeped out. The knocking continued.
“Wait a bit, Mrs. Mitchell,” screamed Kirsty; “wait till I get my potatoes off the fire.”
As she spoke, she took the great bow-pot in one hand and carried it to the door, to pour away the water. When she unlocked and opened the door, I saw through the bung-hole a lovely sight; for the moon was shining, and the snow was falling thick. In the midst of it stood Mrs. Mitchell, one mass of whiteness. She would have rushed in, but Kirsty’s advance with the pot made her give way, and from behind Kirsty Turkey slipped out and round the corner without being seen. There he stood watching, but busy at the same time kneading snowballs.
“And what may you please to want to-night, Mrs. Mitchell?” said Kirsty, with great civility.
“What should I want but my poor children? They ought to have been in bed an hour ago. Really, Kirsty, you ought to have more sense at your years than to encourage any such goings on.”
“At my years!” returned Kirsty, and was about to give a sharp retort, but checked herself, saying, “Aren’t they in bed then, Mrs. Mitchell?”
“You know well enough they are not.”
“Poor things! I would recommend you to put them to bed at once.”