"Weel, whilk do ye think likest him, Tibbie?"
"I think it maun be the minnonette—sae clean and sae fine and sae weel content."
"Ay, ye're speiken by the smell, Tibbie. But gin ye saw the rose—"
"Hoots! I hae seen the rose mony a time. Nae doobt it's bonnier to luik at—" and here her fingers went moving about as if they were feeling the full-blown sphere of a rose—"but I think, for my pairt, that the minnonette's likest Him."
"May be," was all Annie's reply, and Tibbie went on.
"There maun be faces liker him nor ithers. Come here, Annie, and lat me fin (feel) whether ye be like him or no."
"Hoo can ye ken that?—ye never saw him."
"Never saw him! I hae seen him ower and ower again. I see him whan I like. Come here, I say."
Annie went and knelt down beside her, and the blind woman passed her questioning fingers in solemn silence over and over the features of the child. At length, with her hands still resting upon Annie's head, she uttered her judgment.
"Ay. Some like him, nae doot. But she'll be a heap liker him whan she sees him as he is."