ADVENTURE XXXIV.
THAT OF MARY BELL, BYRE LASS.
The morning came all too soon, with a crowing of cocks and the clashing hurrahs of the rooks, circling up from their nesting in the tall trees. But the tired children slept on. The life of the farm began about them, with its cheerful sounds of clinking head-chains as the cattle came in, and of tinkling harness as the teams went afield. But still the children did not wake. It was not till Mary Bell, byre lass, came to get an armful of fodder from the stack that they were found.
"Lord, preserve us! what's that?" she cried when, with her knees upon the step of the stack, she saw the children—Vara's wearied face turned to the babe, and the dew damp on the white cheeks of Boy Hugh.
"I maun fetch the mistress!" said Mary Bell.
And then these two women stood and marvelled at the children.
"Mary," said the mistress of the farm, "d'ye mind the text last Sabbath?"
Mary Bell looked indignantly at her employer.
"How do ye think I can mind texts wi' as mony calves to feed?" she asked, like one of whom an unfair advantage is taken.
"O Mary!" said her mistress, "how often hae I telled you no to set your mind on the vainities o' this wicked world?"
"An' whatna ane do ye pay me for?—to keep mind o' texts or to feed the calves?" asked the byre lass, pertinently.