“Can you not?” meditated her husband.
“She says he doesn’t want folks to know it isn’t his.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t he, indeed? Would he be wanting to disgrace us all?”
“He wouldn’t want folks to know Peter had her. That’s but natural.”
“It’s but natural I shouldn’t want folks to think he’d shamed Jeannie’s Chirstie.”
“So it is,” he agreed. “The thing looked well to the Lord, I’m thinking,” he added.
“I wish it looked better to the neighbors,” she retorted. “This is a strange thing, John.” She gave a sore sigh. “Libby grieving herself daft about that gomeril a’ready, so that we won’t can say a word to anybody till he’s found. Any more sorrow’d kill her. But when he comes back, I’ll have her tell the whole thing. She says she’s been wanting to clear Wully! She’s a good girl, John. But we’ll have just to bide our time. I’m glad I’ve no son like that lad Peter!”
She had had to forget how he had sacrificed her pride for that girl. She had to idealize her son again. She could see that he had done a generous thing. And she would see that the world saw that. She could run to meet Jeannie, now, across the floor of heaven, unashamed. Her husband stood enjoying her face. He said;
“It’s early for boasting, woman. You’d best wait twenty years!”