And that was all he said, but forthwith went upstairs to pack his shabby little black bag.
My father stood a while as if shamed; then, when we heard Jaimsie's feet trotting overhead, he turned somewhat grimly to my mother. On his face was an expression as if he had just taken physic.
"Well," he said, "you will be easier in your mind now, Mary." This he said, well knowing that the rat of remorse was already getting his incisors to work upon his wife's conscience. She stamped her foot.
"Saunders McQuhirr," she said in suppressed tones, "to be a Christian man, ye are the maist aggrevatin'——"
But at that moment my father went out through the door, saying no further word.
My mother shooed us all out of the house like intrusive chickens, and I do not know for certain what she did next. But Rob, looking through the blind of the little room where she kept her house-money, saw her fumbling with her purse. And when at last Jaimsie, having addressed his bag to be sent with the Carsphairn carrier into Ayrshire (where dwelt the friends next on his visiting list), came out with his staff in one hand, he was dabbing his eyes with a clean handkerchief.
Then, after that, all that I remember is the pathetic figure of the little probationer lifting up a hand in silent blessing upon the house which had sheltered him so long; and so taking his lonely way over the hillside towards the northern coach road.
When my father came in from the sheep at mid-day, he waited till grace was over, and then, looking directly at my mother, he said: "Weel, Mary, how mony o' your pound notes did he carry away in his briest-pocket this time?"
I shall never forget the return and counter retort which followed. My mother was vexed—one of the few times that I can remember seeing her truly angered with her husband.
"I would give you one advice, Saunders McQuhirr," she said, "and that is, from this forth, to be mindful of your own business."