“Oh, I’ll hear soon enough,” Janet said. And then the mother was left alone. But not undisturbed: for presently Andrew’s slow step came round the corner, with a clanking of waterpots and the refreshing sounds and smell of watering—that tranquil employment, all in accord with the summer evening, when it was always her custom to go out and have a talk with Andrew about the flowers. She did not feel as if she could move to-night—her feet were cold and like lead, her cheeks burning, and her heart clanging in her throat. Nevertheless the bond of custom being on her, and a strong sense that to fulfil every usual occupation was the most satisfying exercise, she presently rose and went out, the pleasant smell of the refreshed earth and thirsty plants, bringing out all the sweetest home breath of the flowers, coming to meet her as she went forth to the open door.
“It’s very good for them, Andrew, after this warm day.”
“Ay, it’s good for them,” Andrew said.
“You will mind to shut up everything as soon as my son comes home,” she said.
“Oh ay,” said Andrew, “there was plenty said about it yestreen.”
“The sweet-williams are coming on nicely, Andrew.”
“Ah,” said Andrew, “they’re common things; they aye thrive.”
“They are very bonnie,” said Mrs Ogilvy; “I like them better than your grand geraniums and things.”
“There’s nae accounting for tastes,” Andrew said, in his gruff voice.
By this time she felt that she could not continue the conversation any longer, and went back to her chair inside. The sound of the flowing water, and even of Andrew clanking as he moved, was sweet to her. The little jar and clang fell sweetly into the evening, and they were so glad of that refreshing shower, the silly flowers! though maybe it would rain before the morning, and they would not need it. Then Andrew—though nobody could say he was quick, honest man!—finished his task and went in. And there was a great quiet, the quiet of the falling night, though the long light remained the same. And the time passed for the next train. Janet came to the door again with her heavy step. “He will no be coming till the nine train,” she said; “will you have the dinner up?” “Oh no,” cried Mrs Ogilvy; “I’ll not sit down to a big meal at this hour of the night. Put out the beef to let it cool, and it will be supper instead of dinner, Janet.”