She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. . Then her head disappeared suddenly in her hands, and her shoulders shook violently. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. It was not so uncommon back in the Hebrides for men to take several wives and additional lovers. You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. He sprung out of the driver’s side and ran to her door. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. Not Trodger.
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