The Road to Rowanbrae by Doris Davidson

‘Good day to you, Mistress. Here I am again like the bad penny.’
    â€˜Aye, I was mindin’ aboot you.’ Smiling, Mysie held open the door. ‘Come awa’ in, Jockie.’
    As she put the kettle on again, the old man put his pack on the table and opened it up. ‘Razor blades, shavin’ brushes, tie pins, collar studs …’
    He rummaged through his goods until he found the three times she requested. ‘Onything else? Ribbon, tape, safety preens?’
    â€˜I ken’t there was something else. Safety preens, that’s what it was. They aye come in handy.’
    â€˜Aye, that they dae. An’ I’ve got some bonnie wheeling wool for knittin’ socks or drawers for your goodman – lovat green or maybe a dark grey. I’m sure he’s needin’ …’
    â€˜Maybe next time.’ Mysie was ashamed to tell him that she couldn’t afford anything else, but Jockie likely knew, for most of the crofters’ wives were in the same position.
    Over a cup of tea, the packman said, ‘The loons’ll be ootside this bonnie day? Has Jamie’s chest been botherin’ him again?’
    â€˜A wee turnie noo an’ then, but naething muckle.’
    â€˜Your littlest ane – I canna mind his name – but I hope he’s weel enough?’
    â€˜Sandy never tak’s onything, but he’s a little de’il. He’s aye in trouble, an’ I whiles wonder what he’ll dae next. I’ll be fine pleased when he starts the school, but it’s twa year yet.’
    â€˜He keeps you on your taes,’ Jockie smiled, ‘an’ that’s what keeps you lookin’ so young.’
    â€˜Och, you an’ your havers.’
    â€˜I’m nae haverin’. If I’d been a young man I’d ha’e hung up my hat to you.’ He laughed to show that he was joking, then said, ‘Your goodman’s keepin’ weel, I hope?’
    â€˜Oh aye, I dinna think Jeems has ever had a day’s illness in his life, though I some think he’d be a poor patient if he had.’
    Swallowing the last piece of his buttered scone, the old man laid his empty cup on the table and stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea, Mistress, but it’s time I took the road again.’ He waited until she paid for her purchases, then buckled up his pack and swung it over his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you in three month as usual, Mistress.’
    He was a kindly old soul, Mysie thought, as she stood at the door watching him tramping along the road towards Downies. It must be a dreary life, walking round the countryside carrying that pack on his back, but he never grumbled and always had a cheery word for the bairns if they were in. She wondered if he’d ever had bairns of his own, but he never spoke about a family. Poor Jockie. Even if her own life was drudgery from morn to night she wouldn’t change places with him or anybody else, for she had Jamie, with his dark curly head and his big blue eyes looking up at her full of love when she tucked him into bed. She hadn’t the same feeling for Sandy, always up to things he shouldn’t, no matter how much she scolded him.
    When she went out to help Jeems, Sandy was balanced on top of the peat stack throwing lumps of peat at his brother, who was howling loudly. ‘Stop that!’ she shouted.
    Sandy let his hand drop. ‘Ach, I was only playin’, Mam.’
    â€˜That’s nae playin’! Did he hurt you, my lambie?’
    â€˜He got me on the lug.’ Jamie clutching his injured ear, squeezed out a tear.
    â€˜Come, my dearie, an’ I’ll put a tickie butter on it.’
    â€˜Why is it aye me you pick on?’ Sandy complained, as he slid down. ‘Why dae you never rage Jamie?’
    Her voice hardened. ‘Nane o’ your lip. If you was as good as Jamie, I wouldna need to rage you, an’ if you havena cleaned up this yard afore