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After following them through several streets, Fergus saw them stop at a door. Gibbie opened it with a key which his spy imagined the woman gave him. They entered, and shut it almost in Fergus's face, as he hurried up determined to speak. Gibbie led the poor shivering creature up the stair, across the chaos of furniture, and into his room, in the other corner next to Donal's.
"Oh, man," said he, eyeing me with a somewhat wry smile, "I'm juist thinkin' ye're no' afeared o' bogles, whateffer!" "Who are you?" said I, in no very gentle tone. "Donal's my name, sir, an' if ye had an e'e for the tartan, ye'd ken I was a Stuart." "And what do you want here, Donald Stuart?"
She took the Shorter Catechism, which, in those days, had always an alphabet as janitor to the gates of its mysteries who, with the catechism as a consequence even dimly foreboded, would even have learned it? and showed Gibbie the letters, naming each several times, and going over them repeatedly. Then she gave him Donal's school-slate, with a sklet-pike, and said, "Noo, mak a muckle A, cratur."
The steps of the youths rang on the pavements, and Donal's voice seemed to him so loud and clear that he muffled it all in gentler meaning. He spoke low, and Ginevra answered him softly. They walked close together, and Gibbie flitted to and fro, now on this side, now on that, now in front of them, now behind. "Hoo likit ye the sermon, mem?" asked Donal.
Ay, weel, wan day Bowie's man was carryin' a coffin past Donal's door, and Donal an' the wife was there. As we delved up the twisting road between two fields, that leads to the farm of Little Rathie, the talk became less general, and another mourner who joined us there was told that the farmer was gone. "We must all fade as a leaf," said Lang Tammas.
She seemed to him again as he stood before her in the upper room of Lady Etynge's house when, in his clear aloof voice, he had told her that he had come to save her. He had saved her then, but now it was not she who needed saving. "There is only one man who can give Donal's child what his father would have given him," he went on. "Who is he?" she asked.
The wives an' laddies were gaitherin' up the tatties a' the wey to Tutties Nook; and gin Sandy got to the milestane his cairt was tume. By this time Princie was fair puffed out, an' he drappit i' the middle o' the road, Sandy gaen catma ower the tap o' him. Donal's back till his auld job!
For a while she tried hard to convince him now that this now that that notion of her conduct, or of Gibbie's or Donal's, was mistaken: he would listen to nothing she said, continually insisting that the only amends for her past was to marry according to his wishes; to give up superstition, and poetry, and cow-boys, and dumb rascals, and settle down into a respectable matron, a comfort to the gray hairs she was now bringing with sorrow to the grave.
Helen Muir took her in her arms and held her quite close. She kissed her. "Yes, she is, my lamb," she said. "She's your mother." She was clear as to what she must do for Donal's sake. It was the only safe and sane course. But at this age the child WAS a lamb and she could not help holding her close for a moment.
Each morning the children played together and each night Robin lay awake and lived again the delights of the past hours. Each day she learned more wonders and her young mind and soul were fed. There began to stir in her brain new thoughts and the beginning of questioning. Scotland, Braemarnie, Donal's mother, even the Manse and the children in it, combined to form a world of enchantment.
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