‘I wud hae ye promise to merry me, Kirsty, come the time,’ he answered; ‘and that ye ken as weel as I du mysel!’
‘That’s straucht oot ony gait!’ rejoined Kirsty. ‘But ye see, Francie,’ she went on, ‘yer father, whan he left ye a kin’ o’ a legacy, as ye may ca’ ’t, to mine, hed no intention that I was to be left oot; neither had my father whan he acceppit o’ ’t!’
‘I dinna unerstan ye ae styme (one atom)!’ interrupted Gordon.
‘Haud yer tongue and hearken,’ returned Kirsty. ‘What I’m meanin ’s this: what lies to my father’s han’ lies to mine as weel; and I’ll never hae ’t kenned or said that, whan my father pu’t (pulled) ae gait, I pu’t anither!’
‘Sakes, lassie! what are ye haverin at? Wud it be pu’in agen yer father to merry me?’
‘It wud be that.’
‘I dinna see hoo ye can mak it oot! I dinna see hoo, bein sic a freen’ o’ my father’s, he sud objeck to my father’s son!’
‘Eh, but laddies ir gowks!’ cried Kirsty. ‘My father was your father’s freen’ for his sake, no for his ain! He thinks o’ what wud be guid for you, no for himsel!’
‘Weel, but,’ persisted Gordon, ‘it wud be mair for my guid nor onything ither he cud wuss for, to hae you for my wife!’
Kirsty’s nostrils began to quiver, and her lip rose in a curve of scorn.