"Some lady in Jamaica," said I, "wi' bonny bright eyes, young McKinnon was thinking."
At that Hugh left us, smiling.
"Hamish," said Margaret, "you are not being kind to me any more—it is not true."
"Margaret, when did you see Ronald's son?"
"Oh, I was looking for a sailor coming home," said she, "since yon day we went to old Mhari nic Cloidh's, and then the lassies told me Ronald's boy was home—and—and the night you were at Dan's they brought him here—a nice quiet boy—and I happened to go into the kitchen when he was there . . . and, Hamish, it is not nice to be unfriends like this, you and me, and I would not be meaning yon I said to you about old wives' havers—now," and after that she came and sat beside me, and put an arm round my neck.
"Will you tell me this, Hamish?" says she in her wheedling voice.
"Will you tell me truly?"
"What is it?" said I.
"Did McKinnon's son say anything about bonny bright eyes?"
"He said there were bonny bright eyes in Jamaica and the towns thereabout, Margaret, and he kind o' looked as though maybe he was wearying to be back there."
"Poof!" said she, "and was that all. I am thinking I would maybe be like that myself, if the Lord had made me a boy."