“Ye’ll do nae sic’ thing. Ye’ll find him by post.”
“I’ll trust to nae letter the noo, Ellen. Letters aften gang astray, but I’ll no gang astray.”
“Oh, child, child! It’s a sorrowful thing I’m lame an’ can na’ gang wi’ ye. What are ye doin’, Hester?”
“I’m hunting for the newspaper. Don’t they put the railroad time-tables in the paper over here, or must I go to the station to inquire about trains?”
“Ye’d better ask at the station. I’ll go wi’ ye. Ye might boggle it by yersel’. Ring for Tillie, Jean. She can help me oot o’ my chair an’ get me dressed, while ye’re lookin’ after yer ain packin’, Jean.”
So the masterful old lady immediately began to superintend the hasty departure of both Hester and Jean. The whole procedure was unprecedented and wholly out of the normal course of things, but if duty called, they must go, whether she liked the thought of their going or not. So she sent Tillie to call a cab, and contented herself with bewailing the stubbornness of Peter, her nephew.
“It was aye so, whan he was a lad playin’ wi’ Jean an’ Katherine, whiles whan his feyther lat his mither bring Katherine and him back to Scotland on a veesit. Jean and Katherine maun gie in til him if they liket it or no. I’ve watched them mony’s the time, when he would haud them up in their play by the hour together, arguyin’ which should be horse an’ which should be driver, an’ it was always Peter that won his way wi’ them. Is the cab there, Tillie? Then gie me my crutch. Hester, are you ready? Jean, I’ll find oot for ye all aboot the trains for Dover. Ye maun gang direc’ an’ no loiter by the way. Come, Hester. I doot she ought not to be goin’ aboot alone. Paris is an’ awfu’ like place for a woman body to be goin’ aboot alone. But it canna’ be helpit. What’s an old woman like me wi’ only one sound leg and a pair o’ crutches, to go on sic’ like a journey?”
“If I could, I’d take you home with me, Aunt Ellen; if I were only sure of the outcome of this trouble, I would anyway––but to take you there to a home of sorrow––”
“There, Hester, dear. Don’t ye greet. It’s my opeenion ye’re goin’ to find yer son an’ tak him in yer arms ance mair. Ye were never the right wife for Peter. I can see that. Ye’re too saft an’ gentle.”