"Porridge!" exclaimed my mother, in amazement, and at the same time blushing deeply, from a conviction that her poverty had been detected, "how, in all the world, came you to think of bringing porridge to me, Mr Brydon?"
This was a question which Peter had but little inclination to answer. He therefore waived it.
"Hoot, hoot, guidwife," he replied, "what does that signify? There they are—that's enough—and a capital mess, I warrant ye, your young anes will find them. So let them fa' to wark as fast's they like, and muckle guid may't do them! It'll save you the trouble, at ony rate, guidwife, of making a breakfast of your own."
My mother having now no doubt that her neighbour knew of her destitute condition—of which, however, he, in reality, knew nothing—and that his gift was one of pure benevolence, rising the corner of her apron to her eyes, thanked him with such expressions of humble gratitude as gave him full information regarding what she thought he already knew—her straitened circumstances. Peter made no remark, at the time, on my mother's confession of poverty, and said little or nothing in reply to what she addressed to him, but rode on his way.
Well, it happened that, on this very day, my mother went to Tweedie's house with some yarn she had been spinning for his wife, who occasionally employed her in that way, when the latter, amongst other things, informed her of the robbery of the porridge; adding, however, that she cared little about the mess, and only regretted the loss of her dish, which, she said, was an excellent one of its kind.
"If they would only bring me the basin back," she said, "they are welcome, whoever took it, to its contents."
The blood rushed to my mother's face. She remained for some moments in silent confusion; but at length said—her face as red as crimson—
"Mrs. Tweedie, your dish is safe; it is in my house, but the porridge is gone."
"In your house, Mrs. Johnston!" (that is my mother's name)—"my basin in your house! How does that happen?" replied Mrs. Tweedie, with a look of surprise, and something like displeasure.
My mother detailed the circumstances as already related; and, thinking herself compelled to acknowledge her poverty, as an apology for having made use of the porridge, she fairly stated her condition; saying, amongst other things, that when it came she had not a morsel in the house.