All this was said in a tone of astonished comment, so non-committal of feeling that Bobby's tail began to twitch in the stress of his anxiety. When the caretaker spoke again, after a long, puzzled frowning, it was to express a very human bewilderment and irritation.
“Noo, what am I gangin' to do wi' ye?”
Ah, that was encouraging! A moment before, he had ordered Bobby out in no uncertain tone. After another moment he referred the question to a higher court.
“Jeanie, woman, come awa' oot a meenit, wull ye?”
A hasty pattering of carpet-slippered feet on the creaking snow, around the kirk, and there was the neatest little apple-cheeked peasant woman in Scotland, “snod” from her smooth, frosted hair, spotless linen mutch and lawn kerchief, to her white, lamb's wool stockings.
“Here's the bit dog I was tellin' ye aboot; an' see for yersel' what he's done noo.”
“The wee beastie couldna do a' that! It's as muckle as his ain wecht in fou' vermin!” she cried.
“Ay, he did. Thae terriers are sperity, by the ordinar'. Ane o' them, let into the corn exchange a murky nicht, killed saxty in ten meenits, an' had to be dragged awa' by the tail. Noo, what I am gangin' to do wi' the takin' bit I dinna ken.”
It is very certain that simple Mistress Jean Brown had never heard of Mr. Dick's advice to Miss Betsy Trotwood on the occasion when young David Copperfield presented himself, travel-stained and weary, before his good aunt. But out of her experience of wholesome living she brought forth the same wise opinion.
“I'd gie him a gude washin' first of a', Jamie. He leuks like some puir, gaen-aboot dog.” And she drew her short, blue-stuff gown back from Bobby's grateful attentions.