"May I stay here a while and watch you work, and look at things?" asked Edith. "I don't want to go back till that hateful old fellow has done his mischief and is gone."
"Why not?" said Malcom, "an ye don't tech anything. The woman folk from the village as come here do pick and pull much awry."
"I promise you I will be good," said Edith eagerly.
"That's mair than ony on us can say of oursel," said Malcom, showing the doctrinal bias of his mind, "but I ken fra' yer bonnie face ye mean weel."
"Oh, Mr. McTrump, that is the first compliment I have received in
Pushton," laughed Edith.
"I'm a thinkin' it'll not be the last. But I hope ye mind the Scripter where it says, 'We do all fade as a flower,' and ye will not be puffed oop."
But Edith, far more intent on horticultural than on scriptural knowledge, asked quickly:
"What were you going to set out with that trowel?"
"A new strawberry-bed. I ha' more plants the spring than I can sell, sae I thought to put oot a new bed, though I ha' a good mony."
"I am so glad. I wish to set out a large bed and can get the plants of you."