The leap of the water was
not so marked; there were long pools of quiet. Their path had been a
mounting one; they were now on higher earth, near the plateau or
watershed that marked the top of the glen. The bright sky arched
overhead, the sun shone strongly, the air moved in currents without
violence.
"You see where that smoke comes up between trees? That's Mother
Binning's cot."
"Who's she?"
"She's a wise auld wife. She's a scryer. That's her ash-tree."
Their path brought them by the hut and its bit of garden. Jock
Binning, that was Mother Binning's crippled son, sat fishing in the
stream. Mother Binning had been working in the garden, but when she
saw the figures on the path below she took her distaff and sat on the
bench in the sun. When they came by she raised her voice.
"Mr. Alexander, how are the laird and the leddy?"
"They're very well, Mother."
"Ye'll be gaeing sune to Edinburgh? Wha may be this laddie?"
"It is Ian Rullock, of Black Hill."
"Sae the baith o' ye are gaeing to Edinburgh? Will ye be friends
there?"
"That we will!"
"Hech, sirs!" Mother Binning drew a thread from her distaff. The two
were about to travel on when she stopped them again with a gesture.
"Dinna mak sic haste! There's time enough behind us, and time enough
before us. And it's a strange warld, and a large, and an auld! Sit ye
and crack a bit with an auld wife by the road.
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