“Did I no’ tell ye?” said her husband.
“Good-bye and thenky the noo,” said the cousin’s wife, as she went down the stair. “I’ve spent a rale nice day.”
“It’s the only thing ye did spend,” said Erchie when she was out of hearing. “Funerals are managed gey chape in Fintry.”
“Oh ye rascal, ye’ve the sherp tongue!” said Jinnet.
“Ay, and there’s some needs it! A flet fit, too, but a warm hert,” said Erchie.
V THE PRODIGAL SON
Jinnet, like a wise housewife, aye, shops early on Saturday, but she always “leaves some errand—some trifle overlooked, as it were—till the evening, for, true daughter of the-city, she loves at times the evening throng of the streets. That of itself, perhaps, would not send her out with her door-key in her hand and a peering, eager look like that of one expecting something long of coming: the truth is she cherishes a hope that some Saturday to Erchie and her will come what comes often to her in her dreams, sometimes with terror and tears, sometimes with delight.
“I declare, Erchie, if I havena forgotten some sweeties for the kirk the morn,” she says; “put on yer kep and come awa’ oot wi’ me; ye’ll be nane the waur o’ a breath o’ fresh air.”