“Ye’ll come to yoursel, Miss Jean—ye’ll come to yoursel,” said Uncle Sandy quietly, as he laid the stocking on the table.
And after another burst of fierce invective, Miss Jean did come to herself.
“And he had to send you—he couldna get a decent writer to take up such an errand for him! but I’ll see him come to want, as a waster should, and he need ask nae charity from me!”
“Nor never will,” said the much-enduring Uncle Sandy; “and Mr. Macer, whom ye ken weel, Miss Jean, for the first writer in this haill town, is instructed on the subject. Maybe, that may satisfy ye, if ye dinna believe me; but it might be best when he comes to see ye, no to throw your wires at him.”
“Weel, Sandy Muir, ye’re no such an ill body after a’,” said Miss Jean, with a shrill laugh; “and what better did ye deserve, ye auld sinner, after pitting me in such grand hopes? But if there’s land to trust to, past yon prodigal himsel—and I wouldna gie a strae in the fire for his bond—and your ain undertaking, and your twa hundred pounds, Sandy Muir; for ane could aye easy take the law of you, being close at hand, and neighbour like—I’ll no say but I might hearken, if I was secure of my siller.”
And with this gracious deliverance, to himself quite unexpected, Alexander Muir gladly left Miss Jean to order the cream for his strawberries, and to write a note to Harry. The old man drew a long breath, and wiped his brow with the most grateful sense of relief when he once more stood at the door of his own garden, and saw the table spread upon the green, and the expectant girls only waiting the permission of his presence to plunge down among the green, cool strawberry-leaves, and bring forth the fragrant fruit. Good Uncle Sandy looked round upon the young bright heads with a swelling heart, and said “blessings on them” once more. The evil thoughts of Miss Jean’s envious and unlovely age struck the old man as if with a vague presentiment of danger. His heart stretched out strong protecting arms around them. “Yea, children are God’s heritage,” he said to himself in encouragement and hope; and Maggie, and Beenie, and Beatie and Mary, all felt a more delicate tenderness than usual, in the smiles and kind words of their entertainer.
CHAPTER XII.
I’ve seen the morning, with gold the hills adorning,
And loud tempests roaring before parting day.
SONG.