“What is’t you’re readin’ noo?” she would enquire.  “Oh, it’s the ‘Scottish Chiefs,’ an’ I’m jist at the bit aboot Wallace’s wife being murdered by Hazelrig.  My!  It’s awfu’ vexin’.”

“Ay, it’s a fine book, Robin.  Ye might read that bit oot to me.”

“A’ richt,” and he would start to read while Nellie sat down to listen.  Soon both were engrossed in the sad story, so powerfully told, and the tears would be running from the mother’s eyes as her fancy pictured the sorrows of Wallace, while Robert’s voice would break, and a sob come into his throat, as he proceeded.  When finally the passage was reached where the brutal blow was struck, the book would have to be put down, while mother and son both cried as if the grief depicted were their own.

“It’s an awfu’ gran’ book, Rob,” she would say after a time, while she strove to subdue the sobs in her breast.  “Puir Wallace!  It maun ha’e been an awfu’ blow to him, when he heard that Marion was killed.  But you maun read on a bit far’er, for I’m no’ gaun tae work ony mair till I see that dirty beast Hazelrig get his deserts.  He has wrocht for it, sae jist gang on noo till you feenish the bit aboot him gettin’ killed wi’ Wallace.  He deserves it for killin’ a woman.”

Thus Robert would have to go on, until the incident in question had been reached in the story, and as it unfolded itself his voice would grow firmer and stronger as he became infected with the narrative, while his mother’s eyes would glow, and her body be tense with interest, and an expectant expression would creep over her face, betraying her excitement.  In the interview between Wallace and Hazelrig in the house in the Wellgate in Lanark, when Wallace dramatically draws his sword in answer to the supplication for mercy, and says:  “Ay, the same mercy as you showed my Marion,” Robert’s voice would thunder forth the words with terrible sternness, while Nellie would gasp and catch her breath in a quick little sob of excitement, as the feeling of satisfied justice filled her heart.  And when the blow fell that laid the English governor low, she would burst out:  “Serves him richt, the dirty tyrant.  He’s got what he deserved, an’ it serves him right!”

On another occasion Robert would suddenly burst out laughing, when reading Delta’s chronicle of the adventures of Mansie Waugh, the Scottish “Handy Andy.”

“What are you laughing at, Robin?” Nellie would enquire, a smile breaking over her face also.

“Oh, it’s Mansie Waugh, mither.  Oh, but it’s a gran’ bit.  Listen to this,” and he would begin to read the passage, where Mansie, simple soul that he was, was described as going into the byre in the morning to learn if the cow had calved during the night, and finding, on opening the door, the donkey of a traveling tinker, he turned and ran into the house, crying:  “Mither!  Mither!  The coo has calved, an’ it’s a cuddy!”