“Thank ye, doctor; ye 've said what I wantit, an'... it wes kind o' ye tae pit in Jamie,” and his hand came out from the bed for a last grasp. He watched the minister go, and when Elspeth returned he said, “Yon's a richt man.”
The upland children returning home from school in the afternoon came to the cottage door, and Jamie, who had been dozing, heard their whispering.
“There's some o' thae prodigals oot there in the gairden; bring them in, Elspeth, or a' give them a hearin'; they 've juist been the torment o' ma life.”
They came in warily, as those who had some experience of former tricks, but there was no fear even among the girls. Had it not been known how Jamie detested children, you would have imagined that he had been their playmate.
“The warst laddie o' the lot,” and Jamie seemed to be speaking to the ceiling of his bed, “is Tammie Baxter. It's maist aggravatin' that he sud leave 'a lairge paper kite in a sick body's bed, an' me wantin' tae turn roond.” The kite projected itself forward from dark recesses in all its glory of many and very loud colours.
“It's rael bonnie,” was all that Tammie offered by way of thanks, as he took possession of his prize amid general envy.
“A' wudna say but there micht be sugar-candy in the cupboard,” continued Jamie in a soliloquy, and a rush for the door was stayed.
“Annie Mitchell 'ill divide it fair, an' a'm expeckin' a kiss.”
“Are ye near weel?” she said, when the debt was paid after a generous fashion. “Mither wants tae ken.”
“Tell her a'm juist gettin' on fine, an' a'll be a' richt in twa or three days.”