“Whate’er hae you been doing to yoursel’, Neil Ruleson? Your coat is torn, and your face scratched. Surely you werna fighting wi’ your friend.”
“You know better, Christine. I was thrown by those nasty blackberry vines. I intend to cut them all down. They catch everyone that passes them, and they are in everyone’s way. They ought to be cleared out, and I will attend to them tomorrow morning, if I have to get up at four o’clock to do it.”
“You willna touch the vines. Feyther likes their fruit, and Mither is planning to preserve part o’ it. And I, mysel’, am vera fond o’ vines. The wee wrens, and the robin redbreasts, look to the vines 50 for food and shelter, and you’ll not dare to hurt their feelings, for
“The Robin, wi’ the red breast,
The Robin, and the wren,
If you do them any wrong,
You’ll never thrive again.”
“Stop, Christine, I have a great deal to think of, and to ask your help in.”
“Weel, Neil, I was ready for you at three o’clock, and then you werna ready for me.”
“Tell me why you dressed yourself up so much? Did you know Ballister was coming?”