cupy as a study, was covered with notes, which he wished copied--with books from which he was anxious to recite--with work of many kinds, which was waiting for Christine's clear brain and fine penmanship.
It had been waiting an hour and Neil was distinctly angry.
"Mother! Where at all is Christine?" he asked.
"She went to your brither Norman's cottage. His little lad isna as weel as he should be."
"And my wark has to wait on a sick bairn. I'm not liking it. And I have no doubt she is wasting my time with Cluny McPherson--no doubt at all."
"Weel! That circumstance isna likely to be far out o' the way."
"It is very far out of my way. I can tell you that, Mother."
"Weel, lad, there's no way always straight. It's right and left, and up and down, wi' every way o' life."
"That is so, Mother, but my work is waiting, and it puts me out of the right way, entirely!"
"Tut! tut! What are you complaining aboot? The lassie has been at your beck and cal