"Haud yer tongue. The shune can bide."
"Na, na; they canna bide."
"Gin ye dinna come ben this minute, I'll hae worship my lane."
Vanquished by the awful threat, Jean dropped the shoe she held, and turned her apron; but having to pass the door on her way to the ben-end, she saw Annie standing on the threshold, and stopped with a start, ejaculating:
"The Lord preserve's, lassie!"
"Jean, what are ye sweerin' at?" cried Thomas, angrily.
"At Annie Anderson," answered Jean simply.
"What for are ye sweerin' at her? I'm sure she's a douce lassie. What does the bairn want?"
"What do ye want, Annie?"
"I want to see Thomas, gin ye please," answered Annie.