“I was perfectly overpowered wi’ shame; but it was a relief to me when he gaed awa—and I slipped out after him, and into the shop again.
“But Tibby’s isna the only persecution that I hae to put up wi’; for we hae five bairns, and she’s brought them a’ up to treat me as she does hersel. If I offer to correct them, they cry out—‘I’ll tell my mither!’—and frae the auldest to the youngest o’ them, when they speak aboot me, it is he did this, or he did that—they for ever talk o’ me as him!—him! I never get the name o’ faither frae ane o’ them—and it’s a’ her doings. Now, I just ask ye simply if ony faither would put up wi’ the like o’ that? But I maun put up wi’t. If I were offering to lay hands upon them for’t, I’m sure and persuaded she wad rise a’ Birgham about me—my life wadna be safe where she is—but, indeed, I needna say that, for it never is.
“But there is ae thing that grieves me beyond a’ that I hae mentioned to ye. Ye ken my mither, puir auld body, is a widow now. She is in the seventy-sixth year o’ her age, and very frail. She has naebody to look after her but me—naebody that has a natural right to do it; for I never had ony brothers, as ye ken; and, as for my twa sisters, I daresay they have just a sair aneugh fecht wi’ their ain families, and as they are at a distance, I dinna ken how they are situated wi’ their gudemen—though I maun say for them, they send her a stane o’ oatmeal, an ounce o’ tobacco, or a pickle tea and sugar, now and then, which is very likely as often as they hae it in their power; and that is a great deal mair than I’m allowed to do for her—me that has a right to protect and maintain her. A’ that she has to support her is fifteenpence a-week aff the parish o’ Mertoun. O Robin, man!—Robin, man!—my heart rugs within me, when I talk to you about this. A’ that I hae endured is naething to it! To see my puir auld mither in a state o’ starvation, and no to be allowed to gie her a saxpence! O Robin, man!—Robin, man!—is it no awfu’? When she was first left destitute, and a widow, I tried to break the matter to Tibby, and to reason wi’ her.
“‘O Tibby, woman!’ said I, ‘I’m very distressed. Here’s my faither laid in the grave, and I dinna see what’s to come o’ my mither, puir body—she is auld, and she is frail—she has naebody to look after or provide for her but me.’
“‘You!’ cried Tibby—‘you! I wush ye wad mind what ye are talkin’ about! Ye have as many dougs, I can tell ye, as ye hae banes to pike! Let your mither do as ither widows hae done afore her—let the parish look after her.’
“‘O Tibby, woman!’ said I; ‘but if ye’ll only consider—the parish money is very sma’, and, puir body, it will mak her heart sair to receive a penny o’t; for she weel kens that my faither would rather hae dee’d in a ditch than been behauden to either a parish or an individual for a saxpence.’
“‘An’ meikle they hae made by their pride,’ said Tibby. ‘I wush ye wud haud your tongue.’
“‘Ay, but Tibby,’ says I, for I was nettled mair than I durst show it, ‘but she has been a gude mother to me, and ye ken yoursel that she’s no been an ill gude-mother to ye. She never stood in the way o’ you an’ me comin’ thegither, though I was payin’ six shillings a-week into the house.’
“‘And what am I obliged to her for that?’ interrupted my Jezebel.
“‘I dinna ken, Tibby,’ says I; ‘but it’s a hard thing for a son to see a mother in want, when he can assist her. Now, it isna meikle she takes—she never was used wi’ dainties; and, if I may just tak her hame, little will serve her, and her meat will ne’er be missed.’