Her bed stood in one corner, with a check curtain hung from a rafter in front of it.

In another was a chest, which contained all their spare clothes, including Turkey's best garments, which he went home to put on every Sunday morning.

In the little grate smouldered a fire of oak-bark, from which all the astringent virtue had been extracted in the pits at the lanyard, and which was given to the poor for nothing.
Turkey's mother was sitting near the little window, spinning.

She was a spare, thin, sad-looking woman, with loving eyes and slow speech.
"Johnnie!" she exclaimed, "what brings you here?
and who's this you've brought with you ?" Instead of stopping her work as she spoke, she made her wheel go faster than before; and I gazed with admiration at her deft fingering of the wool, from which the thread flowed in a continuous line, as if it had been something plastic, towards the revolving spool.
"It's Ranald Bannerman," said Turkey quietly.

"I'm his horse.