For some time he sat looking straight before him, smiling to his mother’s hands as they knitted, she casting on him now and then a look that seemed to express the consciousness of blame for not having made a better job of him, or for having given him too much to do in the care of himself. For neither did his mother believe in him farther than that he had the best possible intentions in what he did, or did not do. At the same time she never doubted he was more of a man than ever his son would be, seeing they had such different mothers. “Grizzie,” said the laird, “hae ye a drappy o’ soor milk? I’m some dry.” “Ay, that hae I, sir!” answered Grizzie with alacrity, and rising went into the darker region behind the kitchen, whence presently she emerged with a white basin full of rich milk--half cream, it was indeed. Without explanation or apology she handed it to her master, who received and drank it off. “Hoots, woman!” he said, “ye wad hae me a shargar (_a skin-and-bone calf_)! That’s no soor milk!” “I’m vexed it’s no to yer taste, laird!” returned Grizzie coolly, “but I hae nane better.” “Ye tellt me ye had soor milk,” said the laird--without a particle of offence, rather in the tone of apology for having by mistake made away with something too good for him. “Weel, laird,” replied Grizzie, “it’s naething but the guidman’s milk; an’ gien ye dinna ken what’s guid for ye at your time o’ life, it’s weel there sud be anither ’at does. What has a man o’ your ’ears to du drinkin’ soor milk--eneuch to turn a’ soor thegither i’ the inside o’ ye! It’s true I win’ ye weel a sma’ bairn i’ my leddy’s airms-- “Ye may weel du that!” interrupted her mistress. “I wasna weel intil my teens, though, my leddy!” returned Grizzie. “An’ I’m sure,” she added, in revenge for the insinuation as to her age, “it wad ill become ony wuman to grudge a man o’ the laird’s stan’in a drap o’ the best milk in ’s ain cellar!” “Who spoke of refusing it to him?” said his mother. “Ye spak yersel’ sic an’ siclike,” answered Grizzie. “Hoots, Grizzie! haud yer tongue, my wuman,” said the laird, in the gentlest tone, yet with reproof in it. “Ye ken weel it’s no my mother wad grudge me the milk ye wad gie me. It was but mysel’ ’at didna think mysel’ worthy o’ that same, seein’ it’s no a week yet sin’ bonny Hawkie dee’d!” “An’ wad ye hae the Lord’s anintit depen’ upo’ Hawkie?” cried Grizzie with indignation. The contest went no farther, and Grizzie had had the best of it, as none knew better than she. In a minute or two the laird rose and went out, and Cosmo went with him.