“Na, ye needna beg; gin that useless man ye wad marry in spite o’ me, has failed to provide for you, you maun look for help anither gate.”
“I have not come to beg; we have made ends meet so far.”
“Ay, by your wark. A fauchless, smooth-tongued haveril; hoo he threw a glamor ower ye I ken na.”
“You are too sore on him.”
“Ower sair! A useless being that wad talk an flee round the kintry, an dae onything but wark. To think that ye wad prefer sic na ane to yer ane mither, you ungrateful hussy. But its aye the way; the best o’ women get the lavins o’ men.”
“It’s not for me to listen to such talk of my husband,” said the daughter, coloring.
“A bonny husband! Merry’t ye, thinking he could hang up his hat in my hoose and sorn on me. My certie, I sorted him! Gang back to yer husband an wark yer finger-nails aff to make up for his laziness. You made your choice, an I’m dune with baith you an him.”
Resentment struggled in the breast of the young woman with affection; it was for a moment only; her better nature triumphed.
“I have not come, mother, to ask of you anything but your love and”—
“An what?” asked the mother, in a voice shrill from suppressed emotion, “Did I no nestle you in my bosom an care for you as dearer than my life? When, ane by ane, your brithers an sisters gaed awa an you were left the ae lam oot o’ the flock; when God in his providence took your faither to Himsel an I was left alane, it was you that gied me heart to wrastle wi’ the warl, an I watched ower you an thocht you wad be a prop to my auld age. Oh, hoo could ye have the heart to leave me?”