greit, but my een were wat afore I gat oot ο the shed, and whan he made for the stable I stertit to bubble. He turnt and liftit me.
‘Dinna greit, man. Dicht yer een wi that.’
He gied me his big reid spottit hankie and cairrit me ower to the stable.
I sat on the cornkist aside him while he gaed on wi his wark. I was feart to speak in case he wad send me back to the hoose again, but efter a while he stertit himsell.
‘It’ll be a guid bogie that yet. It was gey near new whan we bocht it, and it hasna been ill used.’
‘Did my minnie drive it aa by hersell?’
‘Ay. She gaed to Kirkfieldbank in it for the messages.’
‘Whaur did her pownie gang?’
‘We selt it.’
‘Could ye no buy it back?’
‘I dout no. I dinna ken whaur it is nou, and it’ll be gey auld.’
‘Could ye no buy anither?’
‘Ye’ll hae to speir at yer grannie aboot that, I dout.’
‘Can I speir at her nou?’
‘Ay ay. Awa wi ye.’
I ran roun and back into the kitchen. My grannie wasna in and there was a smell ο scones burnin. I ran through into the lobby. She was at the front door wi Willie Mitchell, the packman frae Kirkfieldbank. He had his big black boxes open on the step and was tryin to coax her to buy a dickie. My grandfaither wore a dickie at the kirk.
I poued at her apron.
‘Yer scones are burnin, grannie.’
‘Mercy me, I had forgotten them!’
She ran awa back in. Willie Mitchell pat back the dickies and liftit oot a wee broun guernsey.
‘Hou wad ye like that, Rab?’
I gied him a guid glower. I didna like him. Afore Yule he had selt my grannie twa pairs ο thick worsit combinations for me, pink like my grandfaither’s drawers, and they were that itchie they had speylt my haill holiday.
‘I hae aa the guernseys I need.’
‘Ye haena ane like that.’
‘I dinna want it.’
I turnt and gaed up the stairs to the landin, oot ο his way, and syne into the paurlor. That was anither place I couldna keep oot o, for there was a gless case there abune a kist ο drawers wi a tod in it staunin on a stane, and aneth there was a rabbit, lookin gey feart, and ahint the rabbit a weasel wi a bad look in its ee. I wantit aye to hit the weasel ower the back wi a stick, but I wad hae broken the gless.
I dinna ken hou lang I stude in the paurlor, but afore I cam oot I had forgotten the weasel athogither, and was thinkin ο the harness, and the bogie, and my minnie’s pownie. I keepit wishin Willie Mitchell hadna come alang and speylt my grannie’s bakin.
I heard the front door shut and gaed ower to the winnock. The packman gaed doun the Stanebyres side ο the front orchard and took the Clyde road for the Falls. I creepit doun the stairs and back into the kitchen. My grannie was rollin anither scone.
‘Grannie?’
‘Awa and play. I’m taiglet.’
‘I want to ask ye something.’
‘Awa and play, I tell ye!’
I didna like her whan she spak like that. It aye made me want to gang hame to my minnie. But I didna greit. I gaed into a corner and had a wee dwam, and in the dwam I drave the bogie to Kirkfieldbank for the messages, the same as my minnie had dune.
Whan my grandfaither cam in for his tea my grannie was still crabbit, and I didna daur speak, and efter we had aa dune I was putten to my bed in the truckle by the kitchen closet, and whan the lamp was lichtit I gaed to sleep. Afore I dozed aff, though, I heard him say in he was gaun to Lanark in the mornin to the mercat to buy a quey in cauf, and she telt him to be shair and no come hame fou. He was queer whan he was fou, my grandfaither, and my grannie aye yokit on to him, but I likit him fou weill eneuch, for he aye gied me bawbees.
It was wat the neist day again, and I had anither dowie time ο it, inbye, playin wi this thing and that and aye turnin tired ο it, and wonerin whan my grandfaither wad come hame. Sanny and the ither daft men had their denner at the side table and gaed awa oot to saw wuid in the auld byre again, and still he didna come, and my grannie and I sat doun to oor kail withoot him, my grannie wi her lips ticht, for she was beginnin to ken he wad be fou.
It faired whan we had feenished and I grew cheerie, for I kent that gin he was fou I wad hae siller to ware, and I thocht that gin it bade fair I micht be alloued alang to the shop at the Falls for a luckie-bag. I gaed doun the Kirkfieldbank side ο the front orchard and played at the road-end, aye lookin oot for him, but there was nae sign ο him aa efternune, and I gaed through the hedge into the orchard and huntit for auld nests I had kent in the simmer. Syne my wame began to rummle and I gaed inbye and priggit at my grannie for a piece.
She was in gey ill fettle by that time, and flytit me sair for the glaur on my shune, but she spread me a haill muckle scone wi reid-curran jeelie. And nae suner had she haudit it ower than my grandfaither cried my name frae the back entry, and we baith kent by his cry that he was fou by the ordinar.
I didna rin oot, for I didna feel shair ο him, and truith to tell whan he cam in frae the scullery he had a look in his ee like the lowe of a caunle. He stachert forrit and pat oot his haund.
‘Gie me yer piece, Rab.’
I took haud ο my grannie’s apron and grippit my piece ticht, but he played grab at it and poued awa hauf o it. Syne he gaed to the door and held it oot, and in cam a wee black sheltie.
He had bocht me my pownie.
I lookit to my grannie for fear she wad be mad, but the sheltie was sic a bonnie wee craitur, and sae dentie wi its piece, that she hadna the hairt.
‘Ye muckle big sumph,’ she said.
THE STEADIN AT Linmill was ane ο the auld-farrant kind gaun back to the days whan fermers likit to hae aa their gear and stock safe at nicht ahint a lockit yett. The hoose and biggins lay in a square roun a cobblet closs, and save for the hoose front door there was nae wey in bune a wide entry in the middle ο the lang biggin on the sooth side ο the square. The rufe of this biggin ran its haill length, but the biggin itsell was dividit into twa ends, a stable and a byre, wi the entry atween, and the entry
