"Can ye len' me yours, Geordie, to get a smoke? I ha'e my tobacco and
matches. Ye see," he went on, speaking more rapidly, "I thought I would
just slip round to see how ye was keepin'."

Andrew knew that Geordie would not have had a smoke for a long time, and
this was his way of leaving him with a pipeful of tobacco.

"I think my pipe's on the mantelshelf," returned Geordie, "but I doot
it's empty."

Andrew took down the pipe, filled it generously, set it alight, and sat
for a few minutes trying vainly to keep up a connected conversation.
After he had puffed a few minutes at Geordie's pipe he laid it down,
dived his hand into his trousers pocket as he made for the door. He
pulled forth the money, which was in a little bag, and laid it down on
the table, saying: "I'm no' guid at this kind of thing, Geordie. There's
something for ye from the men. Guid nicht!" and he was off, leaving
Nellie in tears and Geordie in glum silence.

Mrs. Sinclair's tears were tears of rebellion as well as of gratitude.
She was touched by Andrew's delicacy, but her independent spirit was
wounded at having to take help from anyone. She thought of the children
and of her husband, who needed nourishment, and taking up the little bag
she poured its contents into her lap, while her hot tears fell upon the
money. Little Robert, who was sitting watching, and who had never in
all his life seen so much money, ran to his mother with a cry of
delight.

"Oh, mammy, will I get sweeties noo?" and the boy danced with glee, as
he shouted, "I'll get jeely-pieces noo, hurray!"