Hew Morrison Collection > Real Mackay

96 THE DUNEDIN MAGAZINE
minding, I would rather have the window open. I love to
breathe the fresh air from the loch. (Takes a deep breath.)
It's so refreshing after being in a stuffy city, and the honey-
suckle smells so sweet. How quiet it is here ; you can Hsten
to the quietness, so to speak.
WiDOW. Well, well, my treasure, have your own way with it.
Balree is indeed a sweet place, and God's world is very beautiful.
(Stops spinning.) Màiri, that honeysuckle was planted out
there by your dear father, nineteen years ago, on the very day
you came into the world. He'll be at his rest now three
years come Martinmas, and every summer his beautiful
fìower will be growing and spreading and blooming. The
smell of it goes to my heart Hke a sweet thought of him. (SigJis
and resumes her work at the spinning ivheel, drawing out a thread
and adjusting it.) It's your own father that would be proud
of you, Màiri, if he was still with us, but the Lord appointed
otherwise. (Sighs.) His will be done. (Goes on spinning.)
[Màiri rises from her chair, draws a tendril of honeysiickle through
the windotv and smells it : then she plucks a blossom and puts
it in her blouse. Musing, she leans her elbow on the windozv,
chin on hand, gazing toivards the loch. Her mother stops spinning,
looks np and watches her daughter for a few seconds in sileuce.]
WiDOW. You are very quiet, Màiri. How you have changed !
MÀiRi. I was only thinking to myself — just thinking a little.
WiDOW. It's me that sees a great difference in you — you that used
to be such a cheery lassie, always laughing and teasing one
and making the jokes. Many times, when you're away, I
will be smiling here my lone self, thinking o' the things you
used to be saying and doing. Now, I'll notice, and I canna"
help noticing it, that you're changed so much. I suppose it's
the city that does it. You'll have many things, no doubt,
to be thinking over, and maybe, yes, maybe, you're feeling
just a Httle dull, now, in this quiet place. . . . You'U often
be sitting thinking to yourself in that way. Surely nosihg ^
will be troubling you, m'eudail ^ ?
[Màiri does not answer. She sits down, hangs her head and resumes
knitting. Her mother rises, grasping her chin betwee?i her
fingers, a look of concern on her face ; goes over to the wiìtdow
and sits besides her daughter.]
WiDOW. And something is troubling you, Màiri, my own. You
canna' hide it from me. There wiU be tears in your eyes,
Ochone ! what wiU you be hiding in the deep heart of you ?
You shouldn't be hiding anysing at all, at all, from me, your
own mother.
1 nothing. - pron. mai'tl, Cael., my treasure.