“The best boy ever I kenned—better nor my ain Donal, an’ he was the best afore him,” answered Janet.
Ginny gave a little sigh, and wished she were good.
“Whan saw ye Donal?” asked Janet of Nicie.
“No this lang time—no sin I was here last,” answered Nicie, who did not now get home so often as the rest.
“I was thinkin’,” returned her mother, “ye sud ’maist see him noo frae the back o’ the muckle hoose; for he was tellin’ me he was wi’ the nowt’ i’ the new meadow upo’ the Lorrie bank, ’at missie’s papa boucht frae Jeames Glass.”
“Ow, is he there?” said Nicie. “I’ll maybe get sicht, gien I dinna get word o’ him. He cam ance to the kitchie-door to see me, but Mistress MacFarlane wadna lat him in. She wad hae nae loons comin’ aboot the place she said. I said ’at hoo he was my brither. She said, says she, that was naething to her, an’ she wad hae no brithers. My sister micht come whiles, she said, gien she camna ower aften; but lasses had naething to dee wi’ brithers. Wha was to tell wha was or wha wasna my brither? I tellt her ’at a’ my brithers was weel kenned for douce laads; an’ she tellt me to haud my tongue, an’ no speyk up; an’ I cud hae jist gi’en her a guid cloot o’ the lug—I was that angert wi’ her.”
“She’ll be soary for ’t some day,” said Janet, with a quiet smile; “an’ what a body’s sure to be soary for, ye may as weel forgie them at ance.”
“Hoo ken ye, mither, she’ll be soary for ’t?” asked Nicie, not very willing to forgive Mistress MacFarlane.
“’Cause the Maister says ’at we’ll hae to pey the uttermost fardin’. There’s naebody ’ill be latten aff. We maun dee oor neeper richt.”
“But michtna the Maister himsel’ forgie her?” suggested Nicie, a little puzzled.