Harry whistled.
“What an awful wee sinner! And does your grandma punish you ever? Does she whip you?”
The child’s black eyes flashed.
“She daren’t. Father wouldn’t let her. She gives me stints, and sends me to bed.”
“The Turk!” exclaimed Harry. “Run away from her, and come and bide with us.”
“Hush, Harry,” said Graeme, softly, “grandma is Mr Snow’s mother.”
There was a pause. In a little Emily spoke for the first time of her own accord.
“There are no children at our house,” said she.
“Poor wee lammie, and you are lonely sometimes,” said Graeme.
“Yes; when father’s gone and mother’s sick. Then there’s nobody but grandma.”