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Updated: May 31, 2025
He did not smile. It was impossible to say what he was thinking. This mutual inspection lasted for a moment so intense that it seemed immeasurable. Then Mr. Ransome closed his eyes as if pained and exhausted. And Ranny stooped and whispered, "Kiss him, Dossie, kiss poor Gran."
But even this problem, so torturing to his nerves, was presently lost sight of in the simple, practical difficulty of detaching Winny from the children; or rather, of detaching the children from Winny, of tearing, as they had to tear, them from her, piecemeal, first Baby, then Dossie, with every circumstance of barbarous cruelty.
Stanley and Dossie she had found almost perfect from the first, more perfect than Ranny she had found them, because they were not so near to her own flesh, and not loved so passionately as he. And Granville, once far from perfect, had responded to treatment like a living thing. Maudie and Fred Booty had cherished it, they handed it on to Mrs. Ransome spotless and intact.
It was a spectacle, an operation of such naked agony that before it the most persistent, the most incorruptible sense of propriety broke down. It was too much altogether for Mrs. Ransome. Dossie was the worst. She had strength in her little fingers, and she clung.
As she turned Dossie trotted after her; and as she vanished Dossie cried, inconsolably. He managed, beautifully, with the beefsteak pie. His sense of bereavement which still weighed on him was no longer attached in any way to Violet. He could not say precisely what it was attached to. There it was.
It took ten minutes to get Stanley into them, into the little blue linen knickers he had never worn before, and into his tight little white jersey; and then there was Dossie and her wonderful rig-out, the clean, white frock and the serge jacket of turquoise blue and the tiny mushroom hat with the white ribbon.
"Better keep the deil atower the door than drive him oot o' the hoose." "'Saut, quo the souter, when he ate the soo, an' worried on the tail," was the Gairner's wife's comment; an' Mysie didna like it, I can tell ye. "You wasna in that wey o' thinkin' when Dossie Millar, the skulemester, used to come an' coort you, when you was up-by at the Provost's," said Ribekka to Mysie.
"He was sittin' in his chair there like he was yesterday so bright and I thought he was better, and I made him a drop of chicken broth and sat with him while he took it. Then I left him there for a bit and went upstairs to the children Dossie was sick this morning " "Dossie ?"
Daddy can't take you if you cry. He can't, really." The children stopped crying as by magic. With eyes where pathos and resentment mingled they gazed at their incredible father. Tears, large crystal tears, hung on the flame-red crests of their hot cheeks. Winny turned before she actually opened the drawer. "Who wants," said she, "to go with Daddy?" "Me," said Dossie. "Me," said Stanley.
It was absurd to say that what had happened had disturbed his night's rest. What had disturbed his night's rest had been his fear lest he should forget to feed Baby. And in the morning there had been too many things to do, there had been Dossie and Baby. And then Winny again. And now they were all gone. There was silence and a clear space to think in. His brain too was clear and clean.
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