Christie. “Wha'll give me a sang for my bonny yarn?”
Lord Ipsden, who had been an unobserved auditor of the latter part of the tale, here inquired whether she had brought her book.
“What'n buik?”
“Your music-book!”
“Here's my music-book,” said Jean, roughly tapping her head.
“And here's mines,” said Christie, birdly, touching her bosom.
“Richard,” said she, thoughtfully, “I wish ye may no hae been getting in voolgar company. Div ye think we hae minds like rinning water?”
Flucker (avec malice). “And tongues like the mill-clack abune it? Because if ye think sae, captain—ye're no far wrang!”
Christie. “Na! we hae na muckle gowd maybe; but our minds are gowden vessels.”
Jean. “Aha! lad.”