“Ye look fair crazy, Annie, crazy with wrath, aye, and your hair is all rumpled an’ your smock is wet. Bein’ a cuckoo is——”
But Lowry never finished her taunt, for Annie pushed her through the wicket gate.
The old wife went towards the cottage door slowly. David must have heard Lowry’s words, and she could never make him happy again.
“Annie! Annie!” Her face brightened, then fell.
“Aye, David, I’m comin’.”
“Annie, did ye hear a cuckoo singin’?” David’s eyes glowed rapturously in the twilight.
“Aye, I thought so, dearie.”
“It sang three times; first, it sounded like somethin’ else, it was so breathless; then it sang quiet and sweet like a cuckoo; an’ the third time it seemed comin’ from the old mill wheel. I was listenin’ for it again when I heard Lowry Prichard’s shrill voice an’ I could hear no more.”
“But, lad dear, ye’ve heard it, an’ I’m that glad!” Annie beamed upon him. “Three times; aye, that’s fine an’ a real cuckoo; now ye’re happy, dearie, an’ ye’ll sleep well upon it.”