‘No for a long time. You had always a great troke with them, Joyce, and they with you, but when once my bonnie bird was flown, it’s little they thought of your old granny. There was a great steer about the Captain and her, but I kenna if it was true. There’s aye a talk aboot something, but the half o’t is lees. He’s owre good for her, it’s my opinion. I’ve a real soft corner for the Captain.’
‘He kent the way to get roond ye,’ said Peter, ‘aye flatterin’ aboot that bit lassie there.’
‘He was real kind. He would just sit for hours, and mind everything.’
‘Granny,’ cried Joyce, interrupting hastily, ‘you have told me nothing about the new mistress, and how she took up my place.’
‘But I wrote it a’ down in my letters,’ said Janet. ‘That’s no like word of mouth, you’re thinking? Well, you see, Joyce’—and Janet went over the whole career of the new schoolmistress, who had not given entire satisfaction. ‘As wha could?’ said the old woman. ‘Ye just spoiled them, they could get nobody that would have pleased them after you.’
‘You’re no asking aboot Andrew,’ said Peter.
‘Eh, poor lad!’ cried Janet, ‘I wouldna have wondered if he had come ower the nicht: but now it’s too late.’
‘Granny,’ cried Joyce, with a little cry of alarm, ‘you’ll say nothing to Andrew? Oh, not a word! Never let him know I was here. I would fain, fain not be unkind—but there are some things that cannot be. Oh, I was very silly, I should have known. You’ll tell him to think of me no more—that I’m not worthy of it; but, oh, never tell I’ve been here.’
‘No, my bonnie lamb, no, my ain dear. He never was worthy o’ you. He shall hear not a word—nor nae ither person, if that’s your pleasure, Joyce.’
‘Oh, granny dear! but it’s time now, and I must go.’