'We jist got hame frae Rothesay last nicht,' said Mrs. Robinson, 'so we ha'ena seen the laddie for a while.'
'He hasna wrote this week,' remarked Jeannie. 'But of course you'll ha'e heard frae him, Christina'—this with respectful diffidence.
'He's been busy at the shooting' Christina replied, wishing she had more news to give.
'I wisht I had a gun,' observed Jimsie. 'I wud shoot the whuskers aff auld Tirpy. Jings, I wud that!'
'Dinna boast,' said his mother.
'What wud you shoot, Christina, if you had a gun?'
'I think I wud practise on a cocoa-nut, Jimsie,' she said, with a small laugh.
After tea Mrs. Robinson took Christina into the parlour while Jeannie tidied up. Presently the door bell rang, and Jimsie rushed to meet the postman.
'It's for Macgreegor,' he announced, returning and handing a parcel to his mother.
'I wonder wha's sendin' the laddie socks,' she said, feeling it.
'I best open it an' put his name on them. Maybe they're frae
Mistress McOstrich.' She removed the string and brown paper.
'Vera nice socks—- a wee thing to the lairge side—but vera nice
socks, indeed. But wha——'