“She micht be in waur, tho I say’t mysell. But that’s no what I’m drivin at. Hoo am I to get her mither!”
“Oh, that’s not hard to do. You have seen a lamb lose its mother, but did you ever see the ewe that failed to find her? You just sit where you are, and the mother will come along.”
“I’ve seen the ewie seek her bit lammie ower knowe and heugh an never fail to find the wanderer, but what could she do were as mony auld tups thranging roun as are here? Na, na; yer comparison winna stan, Mr Praseedent. Jest tell me what I’m to dae, an no be stanin’ there twirlin yer whisker.”
“I’ll tell you what to do. Take the child home with you; she is tired and not fit to stay here longer. The mother will be sure to come to the office, and I will know where to send her. I’ll take your address,” and he pulled out his notebook.
Glancing at the child, which had fallen asleep on her bosom, the woman kissed the peaceful little face, and replied, “that’s gude advice. Everybody kens me. I’m Mrs Crowdie, and I live on the —— concession of Hinchinbrook, and if ye want to ken mair o’ me ye can speer at that decent man, Mr Herdman, yonner, wha lifts my taxes, and as oor waggin will be ready, I’ll gang noo. Sae gude day to ye.”
Tired with the day’s fatigue and grief, the child did not wake until the wagon halted at Mrs Crowdie’s door, when, seeing everything new and strange, she cried a little for her mother, but was easily soothed, and, on supper appearing, she forgot her little sorrows in satisfying her appetite. Though Mrs Crowdie had much to do “in settin things to richts,” as she termed it, about the house, and scolded the man-servant for “thinkin mair o’ what he saw at the fair than o’ his wark,” she found time to lavish much attention on the waif, so curiously left on her hands, and beguiled the smiles to her cheeks by kindly arts. When it grew dark, she cried for her mother, but accepting Mrs Crowdie’s promise that “she would see her the morn,” and that she would “let pooshack sleep with her,” she lisped her artless prayer at her knee and, laid in bed, dropped into the land of Nod with her arms around Mrs Crowdie’s big black cat.
A NEEBOR LADDIE.
Little Roose was up by times next morning, and thought it grand fun to help Mrs Crowdie to milk, to feed the poultry, and to get breakfast ready. Everything was new to her, and enjoyed with such a zest as to show that it was her first taste of country-life. To keep her company, Mrs Crowdie had sent word to her neighbors to let their son come and play with her, and by-and-by Johnnie made his appearance, and the two had a rare time of it. It was in the afternoon, when, tired with play, and to rest and enjoy the pieces Mrs Crowdie gave each of them, they snuggled down behind a clump of bushes in the orchard.
“When I’m a man, Roose, I’ll have sugar on my bread like this all the time.”
“When you’re a man, will you have a horse?”