"Ay! ay!" he would say, when she had answered him, and resume his
blowing, slowly and dreamily. For this terrible smith's heart was just
like his fire. He was a dreadful fellow for fighting and quarrelling
when he got a drop too much, which was rather too often, if the truth
must be told; but to this little woman-child his ways were as soft and
tender as a woman's: he could burn or warm.
"An' sae ye likit bein' at the ferm best?" he said.
"Ay. But ye see my father deid--"
"I ken that, my bairn. The Lord haud a grip o' ye!"
It was not often that Peter Whaup indulged in a pious ejaculation. But
this was a genuine one, and may be worth recording for the sake of
Annie's answer:
"I'm thinkin' he hauds a grip o' us a', Mr Whaup."
And then she told him the story about the rats and the cat; for hardly
a day passed just at this time without her not merely recalling it, but
reflecting upon it. And the smith drew the back of his hand across both
his eyes when she had done, and then pressed them both hard with the
thumb and forefinger of his right hand, as if they ached, while his
other arm went blowing away as if nothing was the matter but plenty of
wind for the forge-fire.
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