"Just fancy the mester noo!" said Janet, "linkit wi' Maggie! He'll hae to marry her noo, Ellen!" And poor Margaret became very red and began to talk at a great rate.
"G'wa, Jan," I heard Ellen say, "he's far ower auld. Maggie's only twenty next month, and he's—he could be her faither."
"He's no very auld, Ellen; he hasna a mootache yet!"
"Aw wudna like a man wi' a mootache, Jan; Liz Macqueen says that she gave up Jock Wilson cos his mootache was ower kittly."
"Weel, she was tellin' a big lee," said Janet firmly. "If she loved him she wud ha' telt him to shave it off."
We lay down in the wood at the top of the hill. Annie was in a reminiscent mood.
"D'ye mind the letters we used to write to one another?" she asked.
I pretended that I had forgotten them.
"Do ye no mind? One day when I wasna attendin' to the lesson ye wrote 'Annie Miller is sacked' on a bit paper and gave it to me?"
"Ah, yes, I remember, Annie, now that you come to mention it. But I can't remember your reply."