is ain, and he's living in the
Toddie house this day. Why dinna ye speak to me?"

"I hae heard ye tell the Toddie story till it's worn awa'."

"How was the house looking?"

"Clean and bright as a new-made pin."

"That's right! I'll just tak' the bairns and go up there! One room is
a' she's needing, and I canna spare her that vera lang."

"You'll not daur to tak' a step up there. Ye hae no mair right there,
than you hae in the schoolmaster's house."

"I hae every right there. I hae got the best o' advice on the subject.
I'm thinkin' the law stands aboon your opinion."

"Not even the law and the fifteen lords o' Edinburgh could gie you the
right to put your foot on that place, in the way of the right.
Christine is mistress o' Ruleson's, mistress and owner. That, and
naething less!"

Norman was very unhappy. He could not get the idea of his right to
Ruleson cottage out of his wife's mind, and he had understood from the
laying of its first stone that the building was to be for a home for
Margot and Christine as long as either of them lived. He had some
sentimental feelings also about the place, for Norman was a dumb poet,
and both in his brain and heart the elements of humanity were finely
mixed. But he was reticent and self-denying, and the work of his hands
being needed by the rapidly increasing family, he had put forth no
personal claims. Longing for knowledge and the wisdom of the schools,
he had gone silently and cheerfully to the boats and lifted the oars
at his father's side.

But the house he had helped to build was dear to him. The image of his
grave, kind father still sat in the big chair by the fireside, and his
mother's quick step, and cheerful voice, and busy household ways, were
yet the spirit of the building. He loved its order and cleanliness,
and its atmosphere of home and hospitality. Sitting by his fireside
that night, he constantly contrasted it with his own disorderly, noisy
dwelling, with his slip-shod wife, and her uncertain and generally
belated meals. And his purpose was immovable.

During this silent session with himself, his wife never ceased
talking. Norman was oblivious both to her entreaties and her threats.
But as he rose and laid down his pipe, she laid her hand on his arm,
and said, "Gudeman, ye hae heard what I hae said, and----"

"I hae heard naething since I told you that Christine was owner and
mistress o' Ruleson cottage. Let be, Jessy, I'm weary and ready for
sleep."

"