'Aw, I was sweirt to disturb ye wi' yer' frien's, lassie,' replied Miss Tod, who had been advised by postcard of Christina's doings, 'but I couldna bide in thon place anither nicht.'
'Dear, dear!' the girl said sympathizingly. 'Did ye no get on wi' yer auld frien', or did the poultry attack ye? Come ben, come ben. There's jist Macgreegor left, an' he hasna consumed absolutely everything. I'll get ye a cup o' fresh tea in a jiffy.'
Smiling faintly but kindly, Miss Tod greeted Macgregor, apologized for disturbing him, and subsided into her old chair.
'Oh, I'm thenkfu' to be hame,' she sighed, while Christina flew to her hospitable duties. 'Ye've got the room awfu' nice, dearie.'
'Does the smell o' the ceegarettes annoy ye?' inquired Macgregor, now more at ease, though still ashamed of his recent panic.
'Na, na; it's jist deleecious,' she protested, 'efter the smell o' the country.'
'Did ye no like the country, Miss Tod?'
'Maybe I could ha'e endured it till the week was up, if it hadna been for ma auld frien'. Ye see, the puir body couldna speak or think o' onything excep' airyplanes fleein' through the air an' drappin' bombs on her dwellin' hoose an' her hen-hoose, no forgettin' her pig-hoose. Mornin', noon an' nicht, she kep' speirin' at me if I was prepared to meet ma Maker, maybe wantin' a leg. Oh, I was rale vexed for her, I tell ye, but when she took the mattress aff ma bed to protect her sewin' machine frae bombs, I says to masel': 'If I've got to dee, I wud like to dae it as comfortable as I can, an' I'm sure ma Maker'll no objec' to that . . . an' so, at last, I jist tied up ma things in the broon paper, an' said I had enjoyed masel' fine, but was anxious aboot the shop—a terrible falsehood, dearie!—an' gaed to catch the sax o'clock train, an' catched the yin afore it. . . . An' here I am. I wud ha'e let ye enjoy yer pairty in peace, but what wi' the forebodin's o' ma auld frien' an' the scent o' the hens an' pigs, I could thole nae longer.'
'In short,' Christina brightly remarked, 'ye was completely fed up. Weel, weel, ye'll sune forget aboot yer troubles in the joys o' pursuin' pastries. We'll fetch the table close to ye so as ye can fall to wi'oot unduly streetchin' yer neck. Mac, get busy! Toast this cookie.'
'She's a great manager,' Miss Tod said, smiling to Macgregor. 'But she'll mak' ye a rael guid wife when ye come back frae the wars——'