"Weel, Matthew," returned the wife, "if ever she does come back, nae
matter when it may be, or hoo it may be, I'm glad you'll no be harsh wi'
her. You'll just speak to her as if naething had happened; for I ken
she'll be mair feart to face you than onybody else. Jist try an' mak'
her believe, when you speak, that she had gane awa' to the store a
message, or to the well for watter, an' that she had bidden owre lang,
as she an' ither weans used to do when they got started the play, an'
forget to come hame. Jist speak to her that way, Matthew, an' the
hame-comin', if ever it comes, will no' be sae hard for the puir bairn.
For God knows, it micht be hard enough for her!"
The girl outside, listening eagerly to every word, tried to cry out with
the pain of all this talk by her parents, but her tongue clove to her
parched mouth, and her lips were stiff and dry.
"I'll never be harsh wi' a bairn o' mine, wife," he replied brokenly. "I
liket Mysie owre weel ever to be harsh wi' her. Oh, if only I could see
her afore me this nicht, I wad gie a' I ever had in the world. To hae
her sittin' here, as she used to sit, her wee heid wi' its soft hair
against my knee, an' my haun clappin' it, an' her bonnie een lookin' up
at me, as if I was something she aye looket up to, as bein' better than
ony living being she ever kenned, wad be mair pleasure for me this
minute than if I got a' the money in the world.
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