“You would never do that,” said Shenac quietly. “If you wished to do it, a paper would not hold you to it. I don’t see the use of a writing; but if you want one I don’t care, of course.”
But neither did John care, and so they made the bargain. John was to charge the widow a certain sum for the work to be done, and Shenac was to be allowed the usual price for a day’s work of spinning; and it was thought that when the wool was spun and the field ploughed and sowed, they would be about even. There might be a little due on one side or the other, but it would not be much.
“Well then, it’s all settled,” said Shenac, and she did not attempt to conceal her satisfaction.
It came into John’s mind that being settled was one thing and being done was quite another; but he did not say so. He said to himself, as he saw Shenac busy about his wife and child,—
“If there is a way to put that wheat in better than wheat was ever put in before, I shall find it out and do it.”
He said the same to his wife, as together they watched her running down the road to meet Shenac Dhu.
“What in the world kept you so long?” asked her cousin. “Have you been hearkening to one of John Firinn’s stories? Better not tell it again. What made you bide so long?”
“Do you know how ill the wife has been?” asked Shenac Bhan. Then she told how she found the poor woman suffering, and about the children and their dinner, and so was spared the necessity of telling what her business with John had been.
Greatly to the surprise of Angus Dhu and all the neighbours, in due time John McDonald brought his team into the widow Macivor’s field. Many were the prophecies brought by Dan to Hamish and Shenac as to the little likelihood there was of his doing the work to the satisfaction of all concerned.
“It will serve you right too, Shenac,” said the indignant Dan. “To think of a girl like you fancying you could make a bargain with a man like John Firinn!”