And now a knot collected round Christie Johnstone, and urged her to undertake the sad task.
“You that speak sa learned, Christie, ye should tell her; we daur na.”
“How can I tell her?” said Christie, turning pale. “How will I tell her? I'se try.”
She took one trembling step to meet the woman.
Beeny's eye fell upon her.
“Ay! here's the Queen o' Newhaven,” cried she, in a loud and rather coarse voice. “The men will hae ta leave the place now y' are turned fisherman, I daur say.”
“Oh, dinna fieicht on me! dinna fieicht on me!” cried Christie, trembling.
“Maircy on us,” said the other, “auld Flucker Johnstone's dochter turned humble. What next?”
“I'm vexed for speaking back till ye the morn,” faltered Christie.
“Hett,” said the woman carelessly, “let yon flea stick i' the wa'. I fancy I began on ye. Aweel, Cirsty,” said she, falling into a friendlier tone; “it's the place we live in spoils us—Newhaven's an impudent toon, as sure as deeth.