“I heard you were dying, John.”
“Oh! bless you, bless you, poor lassie; it is mair than kind,—it’s what only an angel would do. But if ye knew what I’ve suffered a’ these lang lang years,—”
“I do know, John; Janet has told me everything.”
“And bye-gones are bye-gones; and I’m forgiven?”
“Bye-gones are bye-gones, John; and you’re forgiven.”
“Nannie,” said the miller, emphatically, “that wee deevilock (imp) that lap oot at me through the kiln-fire was a saint, I’ll be sworn.”
“It’s here,” said Nannie.
“Eh?” said John, somewhat nervously.
“Here,” continued Nannie; and she held up the cat which had been sleeping cosily at the miller’s feet all the night.
“Dear me! dear me!” said the invalid. “Well, well; and the deevilock was a cat—your cat—after all. Well, Nannie, it’s no bonnie; but, Lord bless it, give me it, till I take it into my bosom.”