“She has gotten her gown all wet, mother. She has been down by the linn, it’s no wonder she’s trembling. She ought to go and change her things.”
“Are your feet wet, Kirsteen?”
“Oh,” said Kirsteen springing to her feet, “if ye would just let me alone; I’m neither wet nor cold, but my heart’s like to break. I don’t know what I am doing for misery and trouble. If ye would only have peety upon me and let me alone!”
“Dear Kirsteen, how can ye speak like that? Where will ye get any person you can open your heart to like your mother? Just tell me what’s wrong and that will ease your mind. What can Mary and me mean but what is for your good? Eh, I never thought but what you would be pleased, and a blithe woman this bonny day.”
“She’ll maybe open her mind best between you two, if I were away,” said Mary rising. She was really full of good feeling towards her sister, with no doubt an anticipation of good to come to herself, but yet a certain amount of solid sympathy genuine enough of its kind.
“Now, Kirsteen, my bonny woman, just tell me what’s the maitter,” said Mrs. Douglas when Mary was gone.
“It seems you know what has happened, mother, and how can you ask me? Am I likely to be a blithe woman as ye say when it’s just been told me?”
“That a good man and a good house are waiting for ye, Kirsteen? And one that’s very fond of ye, and asks no better than to give ye all ye can desire?”
“That I’m to be turned out of the house,” cried Kirsteen; “that I’m no more to see your face; that I’m to go from door to door with a meal-pack like a beggar woman!”