They reached the door
together, but Jock, mindful of his injuries, had shut and barred
it, and was grinning at them through the window. Jean sat placidly
down upon the step with True Tammas beside her and continued her
song. Her calmness irritated Jock.
"Aye," he shouted through the crack, "the Campbells may be
coming, but they'll not get in this house! You can just sit there
blethering all day, and I'll never unbar the door."
Jean stopped singing long enough to answer: "You'll get no
breakfast, then, you mind, unless you'll be getting it yourself,
for the porridge is not cooked and the kettle's nearly boiled
away. I've the water-pail with me, and there's not a drop else in
the house."
She left him to consider this and resumed her song. For several
minutes she and True Tammas sat there gazing westward across the
valley with the little river flowing through it, to the hills
swimming in the blue distance beyond.
At last she called over her shoulder, "Jock, Father's coming,"
and Jock, seeing that his cause was hopelessly lost, unfastened
the door. Jean, her father, and True Tammas all came into the
kitchen together, and the moment she was in the room again you
should have seen how she ordered things about!
"Set the milk right down here, Father," she said, tapping the
table with her finger as she flew past to get the strainer and a
pan, "and you, Jock, fill the kettle.
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