And with this he betook himself over the dyke, leaving his wife for once without a shot in her locker.
Vara had gone quietly at Cleg's bidding and put on her hat. This demurely sober lass had quite enough of beauty to make the country lads hang a foot, and look after her with a desire to speak as she passed by on her way to kirk and market.
Vara and Cleg walked quietly along down the avenue by the shortest road to the house of Barnbogle.
"Vara," said Cleg, "I think we will do very well this year with the flooers and the bees—forbye the milk."
"I am glad to hear it, for Mirren's sake," answered Vara, without, however, letting her eyes rest on the lad.
"I selled baith my barrels o' milk and the ten pund o' butter forbye this morning, a' in the inside o' an hour," said Cleg.
For during the last half year Cleg had been farming the produce of Mirren's little holding with notable success.
"Vara," said Cleg, in a shy, hesitating manner, "in a year or twa I micht be able to tak' in the Springfield as weel. Do ye think that ye could"—Cleg paused for a word dry enough to express his meaning—"come ower by and help me to tak' care o't? I hae aye likit ye, Vara, ye ken."
"I dinna ken, I'm sure, Cleg," said Vara soberly; "there's the bairns, ye ken, Hugh and Gavin."
"Bring them too, of course," said Cleg. "I never thocht o' onything else."