Loved his memory still, for all he knew. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate.
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