"Thank you," said Vara, "I am gaun awa' the nicht."
"Where are ye gaun, my lassie?" asked John McWalter kindly.
"To see Hugh and Gavin, my twa wee brithers at Sandyknowes," said Vara, "and maybe I'll be some use there. An' if not, we will just hae to gang farther on, and look for my faither again."
"Weel," said John McWalter, "Guid kens I dinna blame ye. Maybe, after a', it wad be as weel. I can see plainly there is gaun to be nae peace here, and it was a' my blame no haudin' my tongue this mornin'. But here's something that will help ye on your road wherever ye gang, my lassie, near or far. There's nae better friend in the world that I ken o' than just a pound note."
And he slipped Vara a dirty little square of papers folded hard in his hand.
"I canna tak' it," said Vara protestingly, with the paper in her fingers.
"Hoots," said John McWalter, "I'm no needin' it. I hae plenty. And I canna let ye gang oot o' my hoose unplenished and unprovided, ony mair than if ye war my ain dochter. Tak' the pickle siller, lassie, and welcome. And hark ye, mind and crave the mistress for your full wage forbye. She'll think a heap mair o' ye for doin' that. And forbye, she'll no jalloose[9] me so readily."
And that honest man John McWalter slipped like a thief of the night in at the back door of the barn.
Vara promptly announced her intention of going away that evening. "Aye and welcome," said Mistress McWalter; "the like o' you should never hae entered my door."