Clergy -- Fiction; Love stories; Scotland -- Fiction
"I did not see it. What a memory you have, mother, for all the boyish
things I said."
"I can't deny," Margaret admitted with a sigh, "that I liked to hear
you speak in that way, though I knew you would go back on your word.
You see, you have changed already."
"How, mother?" asked Gavin, surprised.
"You said just now that those were boyish speeches. Gavin, I can't
understand the mothers who are glad to see their sons married; though
I had a dozen I believe it would be a wrench to lose one of them. It
would be different with daughters. You are laughing, Gavin!"
"Yes, at your reference to daughters. Would you not have preferred me
to be a girl?"
"'Deed I would not," answered Margaret, with tremendous conviction.
"Gavin, every woman on earth, be she rich or poor, good or bad, offers
up one prayer about her firstborn, and that is, 'May he be a boy!'"
"I think you are wrong, mother. The banker's wife told me that there
is nothing for which she thanks the Lord so much as that all her
children are girls."
"May she be forgiven for that, Gavin!" exclaimed Margaret; "though she
maybe did right to put the best face on her humiliation. No, no, there
are many kinds of women in the world, but there never was one yet that
didn't want to begin with a laddie. You can speculate about a boy so
much more than about a girl. Gavin, what is it a woman thinks about
the day her son is born? yes, and the day before too? She is picturing
him a grown man, and a slip of a lassie taking him from her. Ay, that
is where the lassies have their revenge on the mothers. I remember as
if it were this morning a Harvie fishwife patting your head and asking
who was your sweetheart, and I could never thole the woman again. We
were at the door of the cottage, and I mind I gripped you up in my
arms. You had on a tartan frock with a sash and diamond socks. When I
look back, Gavin, it seems to me that you have shot up from that frock
to manhood in a single hour."
"There are not many mothers like you," Gavin said, laying his hand
fondly on Margaret's shoulder.
"There are many better mothers, but few such sons. It is easily seen
why God could not afford me another. Gavin, I am sure that was
lightning."
"I think it was; but don't be alarmed, mother."
"I am never frightened when you are with me."
"And I always will be with you."
"Ah, if you were married----"
"Do you think," asked Gavin, indignantly, "that it would make any
difference to you?"
Margaret did not answer. She knew what a difference it would make.
"Except," continued Gavin, with a man's obtuseness, "that you would
have a daughter as well as a son to love you and take care of you."
Margaret could have told him that men give themselves away needlessly
who marry for the sake of their mother, but all she said was--
"Gavin, I see you can speak more composedly of marrying now than you
spoke a year ago. If I did not know better, I should think a Thrums
young lady had got hold of you."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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