“Indeed, sir, and I was,” answered she, “and a gey birth it was.”
“And could you tell which was which when the infants were born?”
“Weel, sir,” answered Peggy, “if you will tell me which is the which you mean, I’ll try to satisfy ye if I can?”
“Why, I mean, which was Sarah and which Martha?” continued the writer.
“How could I tell ye that, sir,” answered Peggy, with a look of true Scotch complacency, “when the bairns werena christened?”
The writer, acute as he was, was a little put out, but he rallied.
“Why, Peggy, you surely understand what I mean; did you not know the child which was afterwards called Sarah from that which was afterwards called Martha?”
“I would have liked to have seen you try that, sir,” was again the answer. “How the deil—I beg pardon, sir—was I to ken what they were to be ca’ed when their names werena even fixed by the father and mother themselves?”
“I see you don’t understand me, Mrs Macintosh,” continued Mr Bayne, who had got a Scotch witness on his line.
“I think it’s you that doesna understand me,” retorted Peggy.