“Hech!” says he, “I’m glad he’s ready at last;—’od, I really thought we were to get nae dinner the day.”
“Is my father in the house?” says Jeanie.
“Is your father in the house!” repeated William, “’odsake, lassie, hae ye no been hame yet?”
“I was taigled,” answered Jeanie, looking a wee foolish.
“An’ the kail will no be on yet,” cried he; “I was sure o’t now—quite sure o’t!”
“An’ what for did ye no gang in and put them on yoursel, then, if ye was sae sure o’t?”
“An’ sae I wad, if you hadna threepit, and better threepit, that ye was gaun nae farer than the lane. But dinna put aff time here, for I’se warrant my father’s in a bonny kippidge already.”
“I’m no fear’t for that,” says Jeanie but she wasna very easy for a’ that.
Sae when she comes in at the kitchen door, she sees the kail-pat standin’ on the floor, and her father gien a bit pick to the robin.
“Did ever mortal ken the like o’ this?” cried she: “naething to be dune, and my gude auld father sitting just as contentit there as if the dinner was ready to be put on the table; but we’ll no be lang o’ makin’ something.” An’ she up wi’ the stoup, and aff wi’ the lid o’ the pat, when the miller cries to her, “Tak care, Jeanie, an’ no spoil the kail!”