Here he paused to take breath.
"Mother," said Ellen softly, "was he no the ane wha put the match to Uncle Jamie's fingers?"
Her mother nodded in the affirmative.
"There isna need to be sae muckle heated aboot it, Sandy," said his father. "It is nae wonder ye are vexed, but ye ken that will do nae gude. How is your ain part o' the wa'?"
"It couldna be better. That is the vexing part o' the matter. He kens weel I hae nae ither place to keep my sheep. Now what is to be dune aboot it?"
"Just speak to the laird aboot it. Jock is afeared o' him if he isna o' you; and if he doesna gang right he'll soon be shifted frae his bonnie cot and set doon by the wayside, for a' Laird Graham will care."
"Sure enough. I was that angry I couldna think sae far."
"Now let me say a word, Sandy," said his mother. "If ye had minded the gude Ward ye wouldna hae let the sun go down on your wrath; ye would hae thought yoursel about laying the matter before your uncle. Ye maun be slow to wrath, as the apostle James has written."
"Weel, mother, I hae been slow to speak; leastways I didna gang to him as I had a mind to do. So ye see I hae heeded part o' the injunction, at ony rate."
"Ye hae dune weel in that, Sandy. Thae Wilsons are as they are, and the less ye hae to do wi' them, the better."