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Updated: June 1, 2025
Morran's kitchen before a meal which fulfilled their wildest dreams. She had been baking that morning, so there were white scones and barley scones, and oaten farles, and russet pancakes. "Try hinny and aitcake," said their hostess. "My man used to say he never fund onything as guid in a' his days." Presently they heard her story. Her name was Morran, and she had been a widow these ten years.
She paused but a moment, ran down the hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and daughter neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their faces glowed with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed between them. "But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?" said the mother.
Gae hame to our father, and think nae mair on me I have eat my last earthly meal." "Oh, this was what I feared!" said Jeanie. "Hout, tout, hinny," said Ratcliffe; "it's but little ye ken o' thae things. Ane aye thinks at the first dinnle o' the sentence, they hae heart eneugh to die rather than bide out the sax weeks; but they aye bide the sax weeks out for a' that.
"A blessing on your precious face!" she cried. "Twa joes o' mine: just twa o' my old joes, my hinny dear." "What did they suffer for?" I asked. "Ou, just for the guid cause," said she. "Aften I spaed to them the way that it would end. Twa shillin' Scots: no pickle mair; and there are twa bonny callants hingin' for't! They took it frae a wean belanged to Brouchton."
But come awa wi' me, hinny, till I show ye the oak-parlour how grandly it's keepit, just as if ye had been expected haine every day, I loot naebody sort it but my ain hands.
"That's right, hinny," whispered Simon; "speak to him about his mother again talk about her sorrow, poor lady, and her tears, and distraction, and mourning and I hae little doubt but that we shall get him to marry Meg, or do onything else, and I shall get back to my family after a'." "What is it that ye whisper, Simon, in the maiden's ear?" inquired the laird, sternly.
"O, hinny, hinny!" said she to Cuddie, hanging upon his neck, "glad and proud, and sorry and humbled am I, a'in ane and the same instant, to see my bairn ganging to testify for the truth gloriously with his mouth in council, as he did with his weapon in the field!" "Whisht, whisht, mither!" cried Cuddie impatiently. "Odd, ye daft wife, is this a time to speak o' thae things?
"A blessing on your precious face!" she cried. "Twa joes o'mine: just two o' my old joes, my hinny dear." "What did they suffer for?" I asked. "Ou, just for the guid cause," said she. "Aften I spaed to them the way that it would end. Twa shillin' Scots: no pickle mair; and there are twa bonny callants hingin' for 't! They took it frae a wean belanged to Brouchton."
"Ye're no obliged to ken him; and I wadna hae tauld ye, only I feared ye wad ken him in the morning." "Aweel," said Cuddie, sighing heavily, "I 'se awa to pleugh the outfield then; for if I am no to speak to him, I wad rather be out o' the gate." "Very right, my dear hinny," replied Jenny.
But eh, sirs!" she continued, pushing him back from her with her trembling hand and shrivelled arm, and gazing in his face as if to read, at more convenient distance, the ravages which sorrow rather than time had made on his face, "Eh, sirs! ye're sair altered, hinny; your face is turned pale, and your een are sunken, and your bonny red-and-white cheeks are turned a' dark and sun-burnt.
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