His mind was turned from the contemplation of these difficulties by a sudden change in Rory's tune. He stopped in the midst of his low, wailing dirge and struck up loudly the lively air that told again and again of the mirth produced when "Jinny banged the Weaver." Scotty raised his head and looked across the pasture-field. That tune always ushered Weaver Jimmy upon the stage, and there he was, coming over the field, easily recognisable by his huge feet. Before he reached them, the MacDonalds could see that his face was shining with unusual joy.
"Come away, Jimmie, man," called Big Malcolm, "it will be a warm night, whatever."
But the Weaver was too happy to notice anything wrong with the weather. "Hoots, it will be a fine night for all that, a fine night; and how will you be yourself, Mrs. MacDonald?"
"Perhaps you'll find it chilly enough if you go round by Kirsty's, Jimmie," suggested Rory.
"Hooch!" Jimmie flung one leg over the other with more than usual vigour. "And that is jist where you will be mistaken, Rory Malcolm, I will jist be coming from there," he admitted with an embarrassed quiver.
"That's what you're generally doin'; how fast did you come?"
"Whisht, whisht, Rory," cried his mother. "It's the foolish lad he is, Jimmie, don't be listening to him. And indeed it's Kirsty John will be the fine girl, so good and so kind to her poor mother. And how would the mother be to-night, Jimmie?"
"Oh, jist about the same, jist about the same; but," he lowered his voice confidentially, "what do you suppose she would be doin' the night?" "She" was understood to mean Kirsty; for Jimmie never dared take her name upon his tongue.
"Giving you a clout on the head, most like," ventured Rory.
The Weaver did not deign to notice him. "She would be sending me over here on a message!" he cried, and his face shone as if illuminated from within.