Chapter 21 - Page 2

Gavin. Has it not been selfishness to hope that you would
never want to bring another mistress to the manse? Do you remember
how angry you used to be in Glasgow when I said that you would
marry some day?"

"I remember," Gavin said, sadly.

"Yes; you used to say, 'Don't speak of such a thing, mother, for
the horrid thought of it is enough to drive all the Hebrew out of
my head.' Was not that lightning just now?"

"I did not see it. What a memory you have, mother, for all the
boyish things I said."

"I can't deny," Margaret admitted with a sigh, "that I liked to
hear you speak in that way, though I knew you would go back on
your word. You see, you have changed already."

"How, mother?" asked Gavin, surprised.

"You said just now that those were boyish speeches. Gavin, I can't
understand the mothers who are glad to see their sons married;
though I had a dozen I believe it would be a wrench to lose one of
them. It would be different with daughters. You are laughing,
Gavin!"

"Yes, at your reference to daughters. Would you not have preferred
me to be a girl?"

"'Deed I would not," answered Margaret, with tremendous
conviction. "Gavin, every woman on earth, be she rich or poor,
good or bad, offers up one prayer about her firstborn, and that
is, 'May he be a boy!'"

"I think you are wrong, mother. The banker's wife told me that
there is nothing for which she thanks the Lord so much as that all
her children are girls."

"May she be forgiven for that, Gavin!" exclaimed Margaret; "though
she maybe did right to put the best face on her humiliation. No,
no, there are many kinds of women in the world, but there never
was one yet that didn't want to begin with a laddie. You can
speculate about a boy so much more than about a girl. Gavin, what
is it a woman thinks about the day her son is born? yes, and the
day before too? She is picturing him a grown man, and a slip of a
lassie taking him from her. Ay, that is where the lassies have
their revenge on the mothers. I remember as if it were this
morning a Harvie fishwife patting your head and asking who was
your sweetheart, and I could never thole the woman again. We were
at the door of the cottage, and I mind I gripped you up in my
arms. You had on a tartan frock with a sash and diamond socks.
When I look back, Gavin, it seems to me that you have shot up from
that frock to manhood in a single hour."

"There are not many mothers like you," Gavin said, laying his hand
fondly on Margaret's shoulder.

"There are many better mothers, but few such sons. It is