"Ye are right there, mother. I wish the hail boodle o' them could be set across the North Sea into another land than Scotland!"
"O Sandy, we can bring nae gude feeling into our hearts by cherishing ill-will towards ony human creature. We maun a' hae mair patience. Alas! I fear nane o' us are like the meek and gentle Maister. Compose yoursel noo, Sandy, and get your mind better prepared for the service o' the Lord's house on the morrow."
"I suppose ye killed baith the ewes," said the father.
"That I did. I could do nae less."
"I'll tak ane o' them; the ither ye can mak use o'. On Monday I'll ride over and see the laird, and I think ye'll hae nae mair trouble wi' your neebor on that score, and there'll be nae real loss after a'."
"I canna quite say that," replied Sandy. "They were fine ewes, o' a choice breed. I wouldna set the value o' twa ither sheep anent them as a fitting recompense."
"Weel, it is bad enough, Sandy; but say nae mair aboot it. I'll gie ye twa bonnie lambs in their place. Peace is muckle better than discord among neebors."
Sandy rose to go.
"Tak your faither's plaid," said his mother; "your ain is no dry yet."
Sandy opened the door. "The rain has abated," said he. "I need nae plaid at all. Gude night to ye all." Then recollecting himself, he paused to say, "Tell Stephen's lass to come over wi' her parents and visit us. I want Stephen and Agnes to see how we are making out on the wee place."