--So she
conducted her into the presence of her uncle, a little old man, worn
and bent, with gray locks peeping out from under a Highland bonnet.
"This is my brither Jeames's bairn," she said.
The old man received her kindly, called her his dawtie, and made her
sit down by him on a three-legged _creepie_, talking to her as if she
had been quite a child, while she, capable of high converse as she was,
replied in corresponding terms. Her great-aunt was confined to her bed
with rheumatism. Supper was preparing, and Annie was not sorry to have
a share, for indeed, during the summer, her meals were often scanty
enough. While they ate, the old man kept helping her to the best,
talking to her all the time.
"Will ye no come and bide wi' me, dawtie?" he said, meaning little by
the question.
"Na, na," answered Margaret for her. "She's at the schule, ye ken,
uncle, and we maunna interfere wi' her schoolin.'--Hoo does that leein'
ted, Robert Bruce, carry himsel' to ye, bairn?"
"Ow! I jist never min' him," answered Annie.
"Weel, it's a' he deserves at your han'. But gin I war you, I wad let
him ken that gin he saws your corn ye hae a richt to raither mair nor
his gleanins.
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