Janet gasped and cried: "Oh, Gladys!" and Jean cried: "Look at Maggie blushin'!"
"Certainly!" I said with a laugh, "a dozen of them, won't we, Margaret?"
"Bairns is just a scunner," said Sarah. "Ye'll hae to stop yer typewriter or ye'll waken them."
"That's awkward, Sarah," I said, "for if I stop my typewriter I'll starve them."
"The Mester'll hae a big hoose," said Jean, "and he'll type his letters in the parlour and Maggie'll rock the cradle in the kitchen, winna ye, Maggie?"
"Perhaps," I suggested, "Jim Jackson will be able to invent a patent that will enable me to rock the cradle as I strike the keys."
"Aye," said Janet with scorn, "and kill the bairn! Aw wudna trust Jim Jackson wi' ony bairn o' mine ... him and his inventions!"
"Ye'll mak a nice father," said Gladys, and she put her arm round my neck.
"Ye'll spoil yer bairns," said Ellen. She turned to Margaret. "Maggie, dinna let him tak chairge o' them, or he'll mak them catch minnows a' day instead o' learnin' their lessons."