Myself.—“And what brought you to Kirk Yetholm?”
Woman.—“Oh, my ain little bit of business brought me to Kirk Yetholm, sir.”
Myself.—“Which is no business of mine. That’s a queer-looking house there.”
Woman.—“The house that your honour was looking at so attentively when I first spoke to ye? A queer-looking house it is, and a queer kind of man once lived in it. Does your honour know who once lived in that house?”
Myself.—“No. How should I? I am here for the first time, and after taking a bite and sup at the inn at the town over yonder I strolled hither.”
Woman.—“Does your honour come from far?”
Myself.—“A good way. I came from Strandraar, the farthest part of Galloway, where I landed from a ship which brought me from Ireland.”
Woman.—“And what may have brought your honour into these parts?”
Myself.—“Oh, my ain wee bit of business brought me into these parts.”
“Which wee bit of business is nae business of mine,” said the woman, smiling. “Weel, your honour is quite right to keep your ain counsel; for, as your honour weel kens, if a person canna keep his ain counsel it is nae likely that any other body will keep it for him. But to gae back to the queer house, and the queer man that once ’habited it. That man, your honour, was old Will Faa.”