“Where’s mother?”
“Is she not here?”
“She is not.”
“She’ll be gone to Chirstie’s. Or McCreaths’. Who came for her?”
“She took the team and went herself.”
“You’re daft! Her take a team!”
But the team was gone. The barn was as empty as the house. Dod made a fire in the fireplace, and put the kettle on. Then the father made a discovery that the son had made some time ago. The cupboard was bare. Not a bite in it. Not a crumb of cake.
McNair didn’t like that. She might have told them where she was going. She ought to have come back in time to have the supper ready. He hated a cold house. He went to his tobacco box. At least that was always ready for a hungry man. He opened it, and found a strange white paper in it. A note from his wife. A fine note! “I can’t live in a sty,” it said. “I have gone back to Scotland. Jeannie is with Chirstie. Barbara Ferguson.”
Back to Scotland!
A woman alone!