“How do you—” began McNish indignantly, but the minister held up his hand and continued:
“And some of them are both sound and reasonable.”
“What's wrang with the demands?” said McNish.
“That's what I am about to show you,” said the minister with grave confidence.
“Aye, minister,” said the mother with a chuckle of delight. “That's you! That's you! Haud at him! Haud at him! That's you!”
They took seats about the blazing fire for the evening was still shrewd enough to make the fire welcome.
“Noo, Mr. Matheson,” said the old lady, leaning toward him with keen relish in her face, “read me the union demands. Malcolm wadna read nor talk nor anything but glower.”
The Reverend Murdo read the six clauses.
“Um! They're no bad negotiating pints.”
“Negotiatin' pints!” exclaimed her son indignantly. “Noo, mither, ye maun play the game. A'm no gaun tae argue with ye to-night. Nor wi' any of ye,” he added.