Robson's good mare—her head turned homeward—went forward at a good trot and recked little of her double burden.
'What ails ye?' inquired Robson shortly, feeling that his bride was shaking in curious fashion behind him on her pillion.
'I was juist laughin',' responded Meg, 'at oor venture, for here we are newly marrit an' I dinna even ken your name richtly; ye are a Robson, I ken, an' "Wudspurs" is your toname, but whatten's your hame name?'
'My father and mother aye called me Si,' responded Robson. 'Ye can call me that, an' ye like.'
Meg kept silence a while, then she said coaxingly, 'Si is a pretty name eneuch; 'tis short an' sweet; gie me a kiss, Si,' she wheedled, with a gentle clasp about his waist.
'I'll kiss ye when we win home,' replied her husband cautiously.
'But just ae kiss—to gang on wi',' coaxed Meg further.
Si turned half about and smacked his wife upon her rosy cheek, which seemingly he found satisfactory.
'Plenty more for ye when we sit i' the ingle neuk together the night,' he said.
Meg, enchanted at this prospect, said no more, but looked about her as they rode up the Slitrig water.