“Come now, mother,” I said; “if you only saw Lorna, you would look upon me as the lowest dirt”—­

“No doubt I should,” my mother answered; “and the king and queen, and all the royal family.  Well, this poor angel, having made up her mind to take compassion upon my son, when he had saved her life so many times, persuades him to marry her out of pure pity, and throw his poor mother overboard.  And the saddest part of it all is this—­”

“That my mother will never, never, never understand the truth,” said I.

“That is all I wish,” she answered; “just to get at the simple truth from my own perception of it.  John, you are very wise in kissing me; but perhaps you would not be so wise in bringing Lorna for an afternoon, just to see what she thinks of me.  There is a good saddle of mutton now; and there are some very good sausages left, on the blue dish with the anchor, Annie, from the last little sow we killed.”

“As if Lorna would eat sausages!” said I, with appearance of high contempt, though rejoicing all the while that mother seemed to have her name so pat; and she pronounced it in a manner which made my heart leap to my ears:  “Lorna to eat sausages!”

“I don’t see why she shouldn’t,” my mother answered smiling, “if she means to be a farmer’s wife, she must take to farmer’s ways, I think.  What do you say, Annie?”

“She will eat whatever John desires, I should hope,” said Annie gravely; “particularly as I made them.”

“Oh that I could only get the chance of trying her!” I answered, “if you could once behold her, mother, you would never let her go again.  And she would love you with all her heart, she is so good and gentle.”

“That is a lucky thing for me”; saying this my mother wept, as she had been doing off and on, when no one seemed to look at her; “otherwise I suppose, John, she would very soon turn me out of the farm, having you so completely under her thumb, as she seems to have.  I see now that my time is over.  Lizzie and I will seek our fortunes.  It is wiser so.”

“Now, mother,” I cried; “will you have the kindness not to talk any nonsense?  Everything belongs to you; and so, I hope, your children do.  And you, in turn, belong to us; as you have proved ever since—­oh, ever since we can remember.  Why do you make Annie cry so?  You ought to know better than that.”

Mother upon this went over all the things she had done before; how many times I know not; neither does it matter.  Only she seemed to enjoy it more, every time of doing it.  And then she said she was an old fool; and Annie (like a thorough girl) pulled her one grey hair out.

CHAPTER XXXV

RUTH IS NOT LIKE LORNA

[Illustration:  292.jpg Carver Doone]