"And then what sail I do? A puir auld woman wiled awa' frae her ain hame."
"Aunt Janet, you can go back to your ain hame. There is nane to hinder
you. When you are ready, lock the door, and gie the key to Elder
Mackelvine. But if you like this bien comfortable cottage better than the
one bit empty room David took you from, you can stay in it your lane. I
wadna bide wi' you anither day for gude words, nor gude gold; no, nor for
onything else."
"My bite and sup were aye sure at Dron Point; but what will I do here at
a'? Hae you made a provision for the five shillings weekly?"
"Na, na; I hae paid that o'er lang. At Dron Point you spun your pickle o'
tow, and you nursed the sick folk. There is mair spinning here, and mair
sick folk. You are nae waur off, but better. And it is little o' the
siller I hae given you that has been spent. A' expenses hae come oot o' my
pocket."
"I'll no hear tell o'you going awa'! Sich daftness. And surely if you will
gae, you'll no leave an auld body like me wi'out some sma' income. You
that's got siller."
"I hae nae mair than I want. But I'll ask Davie to do what he thinks he
can do for you; seeing that you are my fayther's sister. Puir fayther! I
hope he doesna ken how hard you hae been on me."
"You sall not go! I'll no be left my lane--"
"I tell you, aunt, I am going in the morning. There is naebody in
Pittenloch can stop me; no, nor Doctor Balmuto himsel'."
Still Janet Caird scarcely believed Maggie. The girl had never been
further from home than Kinkell. She thought she would go first to the
minister, and she felt sure the minister would send her back home. So
when Maggie passed out of the door soon after daybreak, and said
"good-bye, Aunt Janet," the old woman answered with an affected
laugh--"gude-bye till the sun is doon. The night will bring you hame,
Maggie."
Maggie took the hills and was far up them before the village was astir.
She had no intention of calling upon the minister; she still resented his
last conversation with her, and after what he had said to Davie she had
little hopes of obtaining a kind hearing from him just yet. She found
Sandy Young's wagon nearly ready to start for Stirling, and she easily got
a seat in it. It was a slow, lumbering conveyance, but she was in no
hurry; and she enjoyed very much the leisurely drive through lanes, and
inland hamlets, and queer old towns. It was a strange and wonderful
experience to a girl who had seen little of nature but the sea and the
rocks, and little of men, save the men and women of her own distinctive
class.