Languages & literature > A window in Thrums

THE SON FROM LONDON 145
“Na, he maun be by,” Jess would say in a few
minutes; “ ou, we couldna expeck this month.”
So it went on until Jess’s hand shook the blind.
“He’s cornin’, Leeby, he’s cornin’. He’ll no hae
naething; na, I couldna expeck He’s by! ”
“I dinna believe it,” cried Leeby, running to
the window; “he’s juist at his tricks again.”
This was in reference to a way our saturnine
post had of pretending that he brought no letters
and passing the door. Then he turned back.
“ Mistress McQumpha,” he cried, and whistled.
“Run, Leeby, run,” said Jess excitedly.
Leeby hastened to the door, and came bagk with
a registered letter.
“ Registerdy,” she cried in triumph, and Jess,
with fond hands, opened the letter. By the time
I came down the money was hid away in a box
beneath the bed, where not even Leeby could find
it, and Jess was on her chair hugging the letter.
She preserved all her registered envelopes.
This was the first time I had been in Thrums
when Jamie was expected for his ten days’ holiday,
and for a week we discussed little else. Though
he had written saying when he would sail for