“The minister is in his study, and Miss Graeme and the bairns are out by, some way or other. Your Emily’s with them.”
“Yes, I reckoned so. I’ve just got home from Rixford. It wouldn’t amount to much, all I could do to-night, so I thought I’d come along up a spell.”
Janet repeated her kindly welcome.
“The minister’s busy, I presume,” said he.
“Yes,—as it’s Saturday,—but he winna be busy very long now. If you’ll bide a moment, he’ll be out, I daresay.”
“There’s no hurry. It’s nothing particular.”
But Mr Snow was not in his usual spirits evidently, and watching him stealthily, Janet saw a care-worn anxious expression fastening on his usually, cheerful face.
“Are you no’ weel the night?” she asked.
“Sartain. I never was sick in my life.”
“And how are they all down-by?” meaning at Mr Snow’s house, by “down-by.”