“Peg,” said Neal, “I’ve finished my tea, and I wish you’d turn round. Please do, please.”
She turned to him at last with a broad smile on her face.
“Is that the way you wheedled the poor lassie out of the kiss? But there now, I’ll no say a word more about her if it makes you sore. But I can’t sit here crackin’ all day. I’ve the dinner to get ready, and the master’ll be quare and angry if it’s no ready against he’s home.”
She picked up the tray as she spoke.
“Would you like me to leave you them twa graven images?” she said.
“I’d like you to take them away,” said Neal, “and then get me a book out of the case.”
“I will, surely. What sort of a book would you like? A big one or a wee one. There’s one here in a braw red cover with pictures of ships in it. Maybe it might content you.”
“Read me a few of their names,” said Neal, “and I’ll tell you which to bring.”
“Faith, if you wait for me to read you the names you’ll wait till the crack of doom. Nobody ever learned me readin’, writin’, or ‘rithmetic.”
“Bring me three or four,” said Neal, “and I’ll choose the one I like best.”