g. "He winna be hanged now!"

"Mother!" cried Janet, desperate before this apathy, "what shall we do?
what shall we do? Shall I run and bring the neebours?"

"The neebours!" said Mrs. Gourlay, rousing herself wildly--"the
neebours! What have _we_ to do with the neebours? We are by
ourselves--the Gourlays whom God has cursed; we can have no neebours.
Come ben the house, and I'll tell ye something," she whispered wildly.
"Ay," she nodded, smiling with mad significance, "I'll tell ye something
... I'll tell ye something," and she dragged Janet to the kitchen.

Janet's heart was rent for her brother, but the frenzy on her mother
killed sorrow with a new fear.

"Janet!" smiled Mrs. Gourlay, with insane soft interest, "Janet! D'ye
mind yon nicht langsyne when your faither came in wi' a terrible look in
his een and struck me in the breist? Ay," she whispered hoarsely,
staring at the fire, "he struck me in the breist. But I didna ken what
it was for, Janet.... No," she shook her head, "he never telled me what
it was for."

"Ay, mother," whispered Janet, "I have mind o't."

"Weel, an abscess o' some kind formed--I kenna weel what it was, but it
gathered and broke, and gathered and broke, till my breist's near eaten
awa wi't. Look!" she cried, tearing open her bosom, and Janet's head
flung back in horror and disgust.

"O mother!" she panted, "was it that that the wee clouts were for?"

"Ay, it was that," said her mother. "Mony a clout I had to wash, and
mony a nicht I sat lonely by mysell, plaistering my withered breist. But
I never let onybody ken," she added with pride; "na-a-a, I never let
onybody ken. When your faither nipped me wi' his tongue it nipped me wi'
its pain, and, woman, it consoled me. 'Ay, ay,' I used to think; 'gibe
awa, gibe awa; but I hae a freend in my breist that'll end it some day.'
I likit to keep it to mysell. When it bit me it seemed to whisper I had
a freend that nane o' them kenned o'--a freend that would deliver me!
The mair he badgered me, the closer I hugged it; and when my he'rt was
br'akin I enjoyed the pain o't."

"O my poor, poor mother!" cried Janet with a bursting sob, her eyes
raining hot tears. Her very body seemed to feel compassion; it quivered
and crept near, as though it would brood over her mother and protect
her. She raised the poor hand and kissed it, and fondled it between her
own.

But her mother had forgotten the world in one of her wild lapses, and
was staring fixedly.