As he spoke he looked up; and his eyes wandered from one window to
another for a few moments after he had ceased speaking.
"Na; it's no use," he resumed at last. "I hae eaten ower muckle for
that, ony gait."
Annie was as pitiful over Alec's hunger as any mother over her child's.
She felt it pure injustice that he should ever be hungry. But, unable
to devise any help, she could only say,
"I dinna ken what ye mean, Alec."
"Whan I was na bigger than you, Annie, I could win oot at a less hole
than that," answered he, and pointed to the open wooden pane in an
upper corner of one the windows; "but I hae eaten ower muckle sin
syne."
And he laughed again; but it was again an unsuccessful laugh.
Annie sprang to her feet.
"Gin ye could win throu that hole ance, I can win throu't noo, Alec.
Jist haud me up a bit. Ye _can_ lift me, ye ken."
And she looked up at him shyly and gratefully.
"But what will ye do when ye _are_ oot, Annie?"
"Rin hame, and fess a loaf wi' me direckly."
"But Rob Bruce'll see yer heid atween yer feet afore he'll gie ye a
loaf, or a mou'fu' o' cakes either; an' it's ower far to rin to my
mither's. Murdoch wad be back lang or that.
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