"I'll just run across
and give him a hand, and that'll bring him in the sooner."
"Thank you, Turkey," said Mrs. Duff as he vanished.
"He's a fine lad," she remarked, much in the same phrase my father
used when speaking of him.
"There's nobody like Turkey," I said.
"Indeed, I think you're right there, Ranald. A better-behaved lad
doesn't step. He'll do something to distinguish himself some day. I
shouldn't wonder if he went to college, and wagged his head in a
pulpit yet."
The idea of Turkey wagging his head in a pulpit made me laugh.
"Wait till you see," resumed Mrs. Duff, somewhat offended at my
reception of her prophecy. "Folk will hear of him yet."
"I didn't mean he couldn't be a minister, Mrs. Duff. But I don't think
he will take to that."
Here Elsie came back, and lifting the lid of the pot, examined the
state of its contents. I got hold of her hand, but for the first time
she withdrew it. I did not feel hurt, for she did it very gently. Then
she began to set the white deal table in the middle of the floor, and
by the time she had put the plates and spoons upon it, the water in
the pot was boiling, and she began to make the porridge, at which she
was judged to be first-rate--in my mind, equal to our Kirsty. By the
time it was ready, her father and Turkey came in. James Duff said
grace, and we sat down to our supper. The wind was blowing hard
outside, and every now and then the hail came in deafening rattles
against the little windows, and, descending the wide chimney, danced
on the floor about the hearth; but not a thought of the long, stormy
way between us and home interfered with the enjoyment of the hour.
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