And she got a terrible vision of her
aunt looking round furtively as her hand went behind the curtain to a
paper bag of cheap sweets.
"Oh, I can't leave her!" she cried. "Poor Aunt Janet!"
But even as her lips told her she could not go, her feet tingled like
the swallows' wings in September and knew that, whoever suffered for
it, she would have to go.
Ghosts and shadows crowded round her next day when she ran down to the
beach to say good-bye to Wullie. On the gate of the farm was fixed a
notice saying that Miss Lashcairn desired the villagers to come to the
house next day if they wished a free joint of beef, as she had no
further use for her cattle. "As the beast in question is old," went on
the firm, precise writing, "the meat will be tough. But probably it is
quite worth consideration by those with large families."
Marcella was crying as she banged open the door of Wullie's hut.
"I thought ye'd be coming, Marcella," he said, looking at her with
mournful brown eyes that recalled Hoodie's. "Jock's wife's made ye a
seed cake to eat the day, and anither tae pack in yer grip. She says if
ye'll pit it intill a bit tin an' fasten it doon tight it'll maybe keep
till ye're at Australia. But I'm thenkin' she doesna rightly ken whaur
Australia is on the map."
"Oh, Wullie," cried Marcella, flinging herself down on the ground beside
him.
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