“Ye had yer company the first half o’ the ro’d, an’ yer sangs the last, an’ I didna think ye wantit me.”
So saying she went up the stair.
As Cosmo followed, he turned and put his hand into the meal-chest. It was empty! There was not enough to make their supper. He smiled in his heart, and said to himself,
“The links of the story hold yet! When one breaks, the world will drift.”
Going up to his father, he had to pass the door of his own room, now occupied by James Gracie. As he drew near it, he heard the voice of Aggie speaking to her grandfather. What she said he did not know, but he heard the answer.
“Lassie,” said the old man, “ye can never see by (past) the Lord to ken whaur he’s takin’ ye. Ye may jist as weel close yer e’en. His garment spreads ower a’ the ro’d, an’ what we hae to du is to haud a guid grip o’ ’t—no to try an’ see ayont it.”
Cosmo hastened up, and told his father what he had overheard.
“There’s naething like faith for makin’ o’ poets, Cosmo!” said the laird. “Jeames never appeart to me to hae mair o’ what’s ca’d intellec’ nor an ord’nar’ share; but ye see the man ’at has faith he’s aye growin’, an’ sae may come to something even i’ this warl’. An’ whan ye think o’ the ages to come, truly it wad seem to maitter little what intellec’ a man may start wi’. I kenned mysel’ ane ’at in ord’nar’ affairs was coontit little better nor an idiot, ’maist turn a prophet whan he gaed doon upo’ his knees. Ay! fowk may lauch at what they haena a glimp o’, but it’ll be lang or their political economy du sae muckle for sic a man! The economist wad wuss his neck had been thrawn whan he was born.”
Here Cosmo heard Grizzie come in, and went down to her. She was sitting in his father’s chair by the fire, and did not turn her face when he spoke. She was either tired or vexed, he thought. Aggie was also now in the kitchen again.
“Here, Grizzie!” said Cosmo, “here’s twa poun’; an’ ye’ll need to gar ’t gang far’er nor it can, I’m thinkin’, for I dinna ken whaur we’re to get the neist.”