"Yes," said Elizabeth faintly.
"He's tarrible took wi' me, mind ye,"—she looked archly at her listener,—"but ah'm no sae saft as to be took wi' men, ma' lass. Ah've seen lots o' them in ma' day." She paused and smiled reminiscently as though reviewing past conquests; and, looking at her bright eyes and pink cheeks and the waves of her once abundant hair, Elizabeth could not but imagine that many hearts lay strewn along Auntie Jinit's past.
"Ye see, it's this way, lassock: Ah've jist got to mak' ma' way in the warld. Wully is a kind brither, but the hoose is too fu' already. An' the bairns are aye merryin' here an merryin' there, an' yon daft Peter 'll be bringin' yon harum-scarum girl o' yours in ane o' thae days—not but that she's a guid honest lass, but ah dinna see whit he wants wi' an Eerish thing like yon; an' the land jist owerrun wi' guid Scotch lassies that ye ken a' aboot wha their faethers an' mithers were."
"But Sarah Emily will make Peter a fine wife, Auntie Jinit," exclaimed Elizabeth loyally. "Aunt Margaret has spared no pains to make her clean and tidy and saving——"
"Hoots havers! Ah ken yon. But there's nae cleanin' nor scrubbin' nor washin' that'll scour the Eerish oot o' a body, lass, mind ye that. But niver mind her. Ye see, when Wully an' Betsey gets auld ah'll be left on their hands. Aye, an' ah'll be auld masel then, and, it's high time ah wes pittin' ma best fit foremost an' settlin' masel." She paused, and the shrewd, business-like air fell from her. Her eyes grew somber, she looked far away down the crimson and golden vista of Champlain's Road.
"Ah'd no be left this way, lassie, gin ma' lad, Tam, had been spared me. He wes oor only bairn, an' ah sometimes think the Lord surely micht a' left me him. But He kens best," she sighed brokenly, "aye, aye, He kens best. But it wes a hard day for me the last time they brocht ma Tam to me. He'd jist gaed awa wi' the lads aefter his supper, an' it wes no an oor, till they brocht ma bairnie hame drooned. An' ah couldna even see his bonny face. He'd fallen aff a bridge, an' bruised it that bad. Aye, aye,"—a big sigh came again convulsively,—"an' his faether not deid a month. Ma Tam wes sax feet in his socks—a bonny lad, an' eh, eh, sik a guid laddie to his mither."
Elizabeth felt a lump rising in her throat. She stroked the black alpaca arm next her in silent sympathy. Auntie Jinit fumbled in her black leather bag, and brought out a neatly folded handkerchief with which she wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. There was a long silence.
"So ye see, Lizzie, lass," she said at length, her voice still thrilled with the sorrow of her great motherless, "ye see, lassie, ah've naebody but Wully an' Betsey to look to. Ma Jeams left me a wee bit siller, but it's no enough gin a wes pit oot in the warld, an' if Wully slips awa' ah canna say whit'll happen—so ah must look for a hame, ye ken. An' there's this ane ah kin have." She tossed her head towards the receding farm-house. The coquettish all-sufficient air was returning.
"Oh, yes; but, Auntie Jinit," said Elizabeth very gently, "you know—he—Mr. Martin, you know, he's a little—well, the neighbors say he's rather disagreeable at home."
"Hits!" said Auntie Jinit lightly. "He couldna be ony waur than the man ah had. Ah'm no feared but ah'll manage him." She drew her mouth up into a firm line, and Elizabeth looked at her, forced to admiration. Certainly Mrs. McKerracher was a many-sided woman—and one perfectly capable of taking care of herself. "But ah'm wantin' ye, lassie," she lowered her voice, "jist to speak quiet like to Maister Coulson. Ah want to know jist how he's fixed." She pointed with her thumb towards the big, red brick house of Jake Martin. "He tells me braw tales aboot his siller, but ah'm jalousin' he's no tae be trusted. The first time he cam' sparkin', he tauld me he wes jist fufty-sax, an' then ah catchet him up aboot hoo auld he wes the time he cam' to these pairts, an' anither time ah got it oot o' him hoo lang yon wes afore the railroad wes pit in to Cheemaun, an' a rin it up in ma mind, an' ah calcalate he was saxty-siven. Noo yon's a tarrible descreepancy, ye ken, so ah says to masel, ah'll be up sides wi' ye, ma lad. Naebody's got the better o' Jinit Johnstone yet, an' naebody's gaun tae; an' ah thocht Maister Coulson could jist tell me if the lads hae ony hand on the ferm—lawyer bodies kens a' aboot thae things—an' whit a wife's portion is, gin he should slip awa. An' ax him tae, whit ma rights 'll be. Ah've got a buggie, ye ken, an' a coo o' ma ain', foreby a settin' o' Plymouths, an' ah'm to have a horse, he says, to drive to Cheemaun—ah got that oot o' him in writin' an' he didna ken whet ah wes up to. But ah'd like to ken jist hoo much ah'm to expact. Ah'm no goin' to leap an' look aefterwards."