Then the poor mother turned away with a sob, saying,
"Maggie, you tell him. I can't—I can't."
And when Jeff recovered his astonishment he saw that his mother had gone out of the room.
"My bairn, we're going over the water together—you and me—to England—to your grandmother's."
Old Maggie's nose was rather red, and it seemed to Jeff, not used to associate her with sentiment, that her voice sounded queer and choky. What could it all mean?
"Who is going?" he demanded imperatively. "Father and mother, and you and me, I s'pose?"
"No," said Maggie, beginning to sniff, "your father isn't going."
"Then mother is going, and you too, Maggie, will be there to mend my clothes," he said in a satisfied way.
"Yes, yes, I'll gang wi' ye, my bairn, my bonnie laddie—I'll no leave ye in a strange land by yersel'—but not your mother."
Jeff threw a look of extreme disdain towards the guardian of his wardrobe, and cried out angrily: