It was almost dinner-time when I arrived, and preparations were going on for that meal. Over the fire hung a large kettle of barley soup; in a corner of the fireplace sat the bake-kettle, on the cover of which Christie was heaping glowing embers as I entered; before the fire were oaten cakes set up to bake, for Sunday must be provided for, and the family were blessed with good appetites.
Christie gave me hearty greeting and inquired after father and mother. Just then Ellen, her daughter, came in with a basket of eggs. "The black hen has a notion to set," she was saying, when she saw me, and her face broke into smiles. She was a bonnie lass, just turned fourteen. She and two lads were all that were left at home, the rest having married or gone out into the world to seek their fortune.
In the middle of the afternoon it began to rain, and darkness came early, so that I was obliged to spend the night with them. A fire made the little room cheerful, and we were all as merry as we could wish. Christie sat by the candle finishing the week's sewing, and her husband sat by the fire, falling asleep now and then, for he had been chilled by the rain.
The evening was half spent when the door opened and Sandy McHardie, the eldest son, came in.
"Weel, Sandy, what brings ye out on sic a night?" said his mother.
"Ye may well say 'sic a night,' for if I hadna taen my plaid I would hae been wet to the skin."
"Wha is here?" asked his father, rousing from sleep.
"Naebody but Sandy, father. I am come to hae a talk wi' you. And I maun tell you before I forget it—for I hae anither trouble on my mind—that the brown mare has a swelling on her knee, and I want you to come the morrow morn, if it is Sunday, and look at it, for it would be a wark o' mercy to help the puir faithful beast."
"There'll be nae need o' that, Sandy. I think it maun be the same as ailed the black horse. I'll gie you a bottle o' the wash that cured him; I am never without it sin' that time."
"I'll try it; but if it graws waur instead o' better I'll send you word, for I dinna want onything to happen to that beast. Now for something mair. My sheep got into Jock Wilson's field, and it's nae wonder, for he hasna a wa' that would keep out the maist orderly sheep in a' Scotland. Weel, what did he do but set that savage beast o' his on them, and ane o' the ewes was sae badly torn wi' his ugly teeth that I had to kill her at ance, and anither broke her leg. Now I ca' that vera unneeborly, to say the least o' it; and I am that angry I could a'maist set sic a beast on himsel, the scoundrel! There isna an honest hair on his heid, nor on his father's before him, nor yet on his grandfather's, the auld traitor, wha for filthy lucre turned foe to his countrymen, and pit thae accursed instruments o' torture to his ain neebors!"