When wee Andrew ran away with his treasures to the Druids' stones, Mysie went into the shippen, and did her milking to some very sad thoughts.
She was poisoning her heart with her own tears.

When she returned to the "houseplace" and saw the child bending with rapt, earnest face over the books, she could not avoid murmuring that the son of a strange woman should be sitting happy in Cargill spence, and her own dear lad a banished wanderer.

She had come to a point when rebellion would be easy for her.

Andrew saw a look on her face that amazed and troubled him: and yet when she sat so hopelessly down before the fire, and without fear or apology "Let the tears downfa'," he had no heart to reprove her.

Nay, he asked with a very unusual concern, "What's the matter, Mysie, woman ?" "I want to see Davie, and die, gudeman!" "You'll no dare to speak o' dying, wife, until the Lord gies you occasion; and Davie maun drink as he's brewed." "Nay, gudeman, but you brewed for him; the lad is drinking the cup you mixed wi' your ain hands." "I did my duty by him." "He had ower muckle o' your duty, and ower little o' your indulgence.
If Davie was wrang, ither folk werena right.