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Updated: May 27, 2025
Ralph wished to breakfast at one of the inns in New Galloway, but this Jock Gordon would not allow. He did not like that kind o' folk, he said. "Gie's tippens, an' that'll serve brawly," said Jock. Ralph drew out Winsome's purse; he looked at it reverently and put it back again. It seemed too early, and too material a use of her love-token. "Nae sillar in't?" queried Jock. "How's that?
He rade Birsie this mornin' too, after the kickin' randie had cuist me aff his back like a draff sack." "Then what's queer aboot him?" said Jess. Meg said nothing. She felt a draft of air suck into Winsome's room, so that she knew that the subject was of such interest that her mistress had again opened her window.
When for the first time she looked shyly upward, Winsome found herself in the arms of Agnew Greatorix. Wrapped in his great military cloak, with a triumphant look in his handsome face, he smiled down upon her. Great Lord of Innocence! give now this lamb of thine thy help! The leaping soul of pure disembodied terror stood in Winsome's eyes.
It was too irritating that her combinations should fail because of a Cuif whom she had thought to rule with a word, and upon whom she had counted without a thought. She could not say that it was on Winsome's business, though she knew that in that case he would have gone at once on the chance of indirectly pleasuring Meg.
In another moment he was out on the moor, ranging about like a wild, questing hound, seeking the cause of the sudden and hideous outcry. There was no merry group outside Winsome's little lattice window this night, as she sat unclad to glimmering white in the quiet of her room.
"But this was not a scientific expedition," said Ralph, when the folly of their mode of proceeding was pointed out to him. It was manifestly impossible that they could gather flowers walking with the palm of Ralph's left hand laid on the inside of Winsome's left arm. The thing cannot be done. At least so Ralph admitted afterwards.
"O lassie, I juist set my braid hat ower my lug wi' the bonny white cockade intil't an' gied them 'The Wee, Wee German Lairdie' as they gaed doon the road, an' syne on the back o't: "'Awa, Whigs, awa'! Ye're but a pack " But the great plaid-swathed figure of Winsome's grandfather turned at the words of the long-forgotten song as though waking from a deep sleep.
But Winsome's eyes were as clearly and frankly blue as if God had made them new that morning. At least Ralph looked upon their Sabbath peace and gave thanks, finding them very good.
I think it looks like sixty bushels to the acre," she continued practically; "so you shall have a carpet for the study this year, if all goes well." "That will be famous!" cried Ralph, like a schoolboy, waving his hand. It paused among Winsome's hair. "I wish you would not tumble it all down," she said; "I am too old for that kind of thing now!"
One of these drew a flossy tendril of Winsome's golden hair, which this morning had red lights in it like the garnet gloss on ripe wheat or Indian corn, and tossed it over her brow. Ralph's hand tingled with the desire to touch it and put it back under her bonnet, and his heart leaped at the thought.
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