“Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, Ken ye what is care? Had ye ever a thought, lassie, Made yer hertie sair?” Johnnie said it, Johnnie luikin’ Into Jeannie’s face; Seekin’ in the garden hedge For an open place. “Na,” said Jeannie, saftly smilin’, “Nought o’ care ken I; For they say the carlin’ Is better passit by.” “Licht o’ hert ye are, Jeannie, As o’ foot and ban’! Lang be yours sic answer To ony spierin’ man.” “I ken what ye wad hae, sir, Though yer words are few; Ye wad hae me aye as careless, Till I care for you.” “Dinna mock me, Jeannie, lassie, Wi’ yer lauchin’ ee; For ye hae nae notion What gaes on in me.” “No more I hae a notion O’ what’s in yonder cairn; I’m no sae pryin’, Johnnie, It’s none o’ my concern.” “Well, there’s ae thing, Jeannie, Ye canna help, my doo-- Ye canna help me carin’ Wi’ a’ my hert for you.” Johnnie turned and left her, Listed for the war; In a year cam’ limpin’ Hame wi’ mony a scar. Wha was that was sittin’ Wan and worn wi’ care? Could it be his Jeannie Aged and alter’d sair? Her goon was black, her eelids Reid wi’ sorrow’s dew: Could she in a twalmonth Be wife and widow too? Jeannie’s hert gaed wallop, Ken ‘t him whan he spak’: “I thocht that ye was deid, Johnnie: Is’t yersel’ come back?” “O Jeannie, are ye, tell me, Wife or widow or baith? To see ye lost as I am, I wad be verra laith,” “I canna be a widow That wife was never nane; But gin ye will hae me, Noo I will be ane.” His crutch he flang it frae him, Forgetful o’ war’s harms; But couldna stan’ withoot it, And fell in Jeannie’s arms. “That’s not a bad ballad,” said James Duff. “Have you a tune it would go to, Elsie?” Elsie thought a little, and asked me to repeat the first verse. Then she sung it out clear and fair to a tune I had never heard before. “That will do splendidly, Elsie,” I said. “I will write it out for you, and then you will be able to sing it all the next time I come.” She made me no answer. She and Turkey were looking at each other, and did not hear me. James Duff began to talk to me. Elsie was putting away the supper-things. In a few minutes I missed her and Turkey, and they were absent for some time. They did not return together, but first Turkey, and Elsie some minutes after. As the night was now getting quite stormy, James Duff counselled our return, and we obeyed. But little either Turkey or I cared for wind or hail. I saw Elsie at church most Sundays; but she was far too attentive and modest ever to give me even a look. Sometimes I had a word with her when we came out, but my father expected us to walk home with him; and I generally saw Turkey walk away with her. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXV A Break in my Story I am now rapidly approaching the moment at which I said I should bring this history to an end--the moment, namely, when I became aware that my boyhood was behind me.