“What for no?”
“It’s no sae muckle ’at I’m in a hurry as ’at I maun be duin’.”
“Whaur are ye b’un’ for, gien a body may speir?”
“I’m gaein’ to seek—no my fortin, but my daily breid. Gien I spak as a richt man, I wad say I was gaein’ to luik for the wark set me. I’m feart to say that straucht oot; I haena won sae far as that yet. I winna du naething though ’at he wadna hae me du. I daur to say that—sae be I un’erstan’. My mither says the day ’ill come whan I’ll care for naething but his wull.”
“Yer mither ’ill be Janet Grant, I’m thinkin’! There canna be twa sic in ae country-side!”
“Ye’re i’ the richt,” answered Donal. “Ken ye my mither?”
“I hae seen her; an’ to see her ’s to ken her.”
“Ay, gien wha sees her be sic like ’s hersel’.”
“I canna preten’ to that; but she’s weel kent throuw a’ the country for a God-fearin’ wuman.—An’ whaur ’ll ye be for the noo?”
“I’m jist upo’ the tramp, luikin’ for wark.”