“And, dear,” said Janet, in a little, “your father tells me that Mr Snow has offered to send for my mother and Sandy. And oh! my bairn, my heart leaps in my bosom at the thought of seeing their faces again.” She had no power to add more.
“But, Janet, your mother thought herself too old to cross the sea when we came, and that is seven years ago.”
“My dear, she kenned she couldna come, and it was as well to put that face on it. But she would gladly come now, if I had a home to give her.”
There was silence for a while, and then Graeme said,—
“It’s selfish in me, I know, but, oh! Janet, we have been so happy lately, and I canna bear to think of changes coming.”
Mrs Nasmyth made no answer, for the sound of the bairns’ voices came in at the open door, and in a minute Marian entered.
“Where have you been, dear? I fear you have wearied yourself,” said Janet, tenderly.
“We have only been down at Mr Snow’s barn watching the threshing. But, indeed, I have wearied myself.” And sitting down on the floor at Janet’s feet, she laid her head upon her lap. A kind, hard hand was laid on the bright hair of the bonniest of a’ the bairns.
“You mustna sit down here, my dear. Lie down on the sofa and rest yourself till the tea be ready. Have you taken your bottle to-day?”
Marian made her face the very picture of disgust.