The sunshine knew it,
wearing its calm Sunday best. Sights and sounds attuned themselves.
The White Farm family was home from kirk. Jenny Barrow and Elspeth put
away hood and wide hat of straw, slipped from and shook out and folded
on the shelf Sunday gowns and kerchiefs. Then each donned a clean
print and a less fine kerchief and came forth to direct and aid the
two cotter lasses who served at White Farm. These by now had off their
kirk things, but they marked Sunday still by keeping shoes and
stockings. Menie and Merran, Elspeth and Jenny, set the
yesterday-prepared dinner cold upon the table, drew the ale, and
placed chairs and stools. Two men, Thomas and Willy, father and son,
who drove the plow, sowed and reaped, for White Farm, came from the
barn. They were yet Sunday-clad, with very clean, shining faces. "Call
father, Elspeth!" directed Jenny, and set on the table a honeycomb.
Elspeth went without the door. Before the house grew a great fir-tree
that had a bench built around it. Here, in fine weather, in rest hours
and on Sunday, might be looked for Jarvis Barrow. It was his habit to
take the far side of the tree, with the trunk between him and the
house. So there spread before him the running river, the dale and
moor, and at last the piled hills. Here he sat, leaning hands upon a
great stick shaped like a crook, his Bible open upon his knees.
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