“Aye, mother, they’re most as big as yearlin’s now. Are ye not goin’ to take tea?”
“No, I’ve a bit distress, no more’n I have often.”
“Have ye tried the peppermint?”
“Aye, but it’s no good. Did Eilir say what the shearin’ ’d be?”
“He did; it’ll be heavier nor usual. It’ll make a big shipment this year.”
“Good, father, we’ll be takin’ a trip to the lad’s college yet, what with the lambs comin’ fine, the wool heavy, the calves double the number they were last year. Father, do ye think the boy’d be ashamed of his old mam?”
“Ashamed? He’s no lad of mine if he is. Well, mother, if it’s all really comin’ as well as it seems to be, we’ll be takin’ that trip to see the boy.”
“Oh, father dear, ’twould be grand, what I’ve dreamed of these many, many years!” Barbara dropped her knitting and clasped her hands in childlike abandonment of pleasure.
“Tut, mam,” added Samuel, his face lengthening, “it’s not absolutely certain, what with waste in the kitchen, the breakin’ of crockery, an’ the men eatin’ themselves out’n house an’ home, it’s no tellin’. It might be an extravagance, but we’ll see.”
“But, father!” exclaimed Barbara impulsively, and stopped.