Her mother stooped to pluck a weed from among the flowers and wipe the letters of the name where the moss was gathering, then she bent her head on the grey, worn stone, and cried, “Jeannie, Jeannie, ma bonnie lassie.”
“Dinna greet, Jean, as though we hed nae lassie,” said Burnbrae, “for there's naethin' here but the dust. Ye mind what the minister read that day, 'He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom.'
“Be thankfu' we have the fower laddies spared, a' daein' weel, an' ane near ready for a kirk, an' you an' me thegither still. We 've hed mony mercies, Jean.”
“A 'm no denyin' that, John, an' a'm prood o' the laddies; but there 's no' a day a' dinna miss ma lassie, an' a' can hear her sayin' 'mither' still when ye 're a' in the fields and a'm alane.”
“Wae 's me, wha will care for her grave when we 're far awa an' no a Baxter left in the Glen? It's no lichtsome to leave the hoose whar we 've livit sae lang, an' the fields ye 've lookit at a' yir days, but it 's sairest tae leave yir dead.” The past with the tender associations that make a woman's life was tightening its hold on Jean, and when they looked down on the Glen from the height of Burnbrae, her voice broke again:
“It's a bonnie sicht, John, an' kindly tae oor eyes; we 'ill never see anither tae sateesfy oor auld age.”
“A've seen nae ither a' ma days,” said Burnbrae, “an' there can be nane sae dear tae me noo in this warld; but it can be boucht ower dear, lass,” and when she looked at him, “wi' oor souls, Jean, wi' oor souls.”
No Drumtochty man felt at ease on Sabbath, or spoke quite like himself at home, till he had escaped from his blacks and had his tea. Then he stretched himself with an air of negligence, and started on a survey of his farm, which allowed of endless meditation, and lasted in summer time unto the going down of the sun. It was a leisurely progress, in which time was of no importance, from field to field and into every corner of each field, and from beast to beast and round every beast to the completion of as many circles as there were beasts. The rate was about one and a half miles an hour, excluding halts, and the thumbs were never removed from the armholes except for experimental observations. No one forgot that it was Sabbath, and there were things no right-thinking man would do. Drumsheugh might sample a head of oats in his hand, in sheer absence of mind, but he would have been ashamed to lift a shaw of potatoes; and although Hillocks usually settled the price he would ask for his fat cattle in the midst of these reveries, he always felt their ribs on a Saturday. When the gudeman came in, he had taken stock with considerable accuracy, but he was justly horrified to find his wife asleep, with her head uncomfortably pillowed on the open family Bible.