You'll be tired of riding such a
rough horse as that."
"No, indeed," I said; "Turkey is not a rough horse; he's the best
horse in the world."
"He always calls me Turkey, mother, because of my nose," said Turkey,
laughing.
"And what brings you here?" asked his mother. "This is not on the road
to the manse."
"I wanted to see if you were better, mother."
"But what becomes of the cows?"
"Oh! they're all safe enough. They know I'm here."
"Well, sit down and rest you both," she said, resuming her own place
at the wheel. "I'm glad to see you, Johnnie, so be your work is not
neglected. I must go on with mine."
Thereupon Turkey, who had stood waiting his mother's will, deposited
me upon her bed, and sat down beside me.
"And how's your papa, the good man?" she said to me.
I told her he was quite well.
"All the better that you're restored from the grave, I don't doubt,"
she said.
I had never known before that I had been in any danger.
"It's been a sore time for him and you too," she added. "You must be a
good son to him, Ranald, for he was in a great way about you, they
tell me."
Turkey said nothing, and I was too much surprised to know what to say;
for as often as my father had come into my room, he had always looked
cheerful, and I had had no idea that he was uneasy about me.
After a little more talk, Turkey rose, and said we must be going.
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