“I crave yer pardon, Mistress Cormack: I was clean forgettin ony breedin I ever had!—Maggie, tak oor freen’ ben the hoose, and gar her rest her a bit, while ye get something for her efter her lang walk. I’ll be ben mysel’ in a meenute or twa to hae a crack wi’ her. I hae but a feow stitches mair to put intil this same sole! The three o’ ’s maun tak some sarious coonsel thegither anent the upbringin o’ this God-sent bairn! I doobtna but he’s come wi’ a blessin to this hoose! Eh, but it was a mercifu fittin o’ things that the puir bairn and Maggie sud that nicht come thegither! Verily, He shall give his angels chairge over thee! They maun hae been aboot the muir a’ that day, that nane but Maggie sud get a haud o’ ’im—aiven as they maun hae been aboot the field and the flock and the shepherds and the inn-stable a’ that gran’ nicht!” The same moment entered a neighbour who, having previously heard and misinterpreted the story, had now caught sight of their arrival. “Eh, soutar, but ye _ir_ a man by Providence sair oppressed!” she cried. “Wha think ye’s been i’ the faut here?” The wrath of the soutar sprang up flaming. “Gang oot o’ my hoose, ye ill-thouchtit wuman!” he shouted. “Gang oot o’ ’t this verra meenit—and comena intil ’t again ’cep it be to beg my pardon and that o’ this gude wuman and my bonny lass here! The Lord God bless her frae ill tongues!—Gang oot, I tell ye!” The outraged father stood towering, whom all the town knew for a man of gentlest temper and great courtesy. The woman stood one moment dazed and uncertain, then turned and fled. Maggie retired with Mistress Cormack; and when the soutar joined them, he said never a word about the discomfited gossip. Eppie having taken her tea, rose and bade them good-night, nor crossed another threshold in the village. CHAPTER VI As soon as the baby was asleep, Maggie went back to the kitchen where her father still sat at work. “Ye’re late the night, father!” she said. “I am that, lassie; but ye see I canna luik for muckle help frae you for some time: ye’ll hae eneuch to dee wi’ that bairn o’ yours; and we hae him to fen for noo as weel’s oorsels! No ’at I hae the least concern aboot the bonny white raven, only we maun consider _him_ like the lave!” “It’s little he’ll want for a whilie, father!” answered Maggie. “—But noo,” she went on, in a tone of seriousness that was almost awe, “lat me hear what ye’re thinkin:—what kin’ o’ a mither could she be that left her bairn theroot i’ the wide, eerie nicht? and what for could she hae dene ’t?”