“What saw ye?” repeated Miss Horn, more gently, but not less eagerly.
“Whause is that kist o’ mahogany drawers i’ that bedroom, gien I may preshume ta spier?”
“Whause but mine?”
“They’re no Jean’s?”
“Jean’s!!”
“Ye micht hae latten her keep her bit duds i’ them, for onything I kent!”
“Jean’s duds i’ my Grizel’s drawers! A lik’ly thing!”
“Hm! They war puir Miss Cam’ell’s, war they?”
“They war Grizell Cam’ell’s drawers as lang ’s she had use for ony; but what for ye sud say puir till her, I dinna ken, ’cep’ it be ’at she’s gane whaur they haena muckle ’at needs layin’ in drawers. That’s neither here nor there.—Div ye tell me ’at Jean was intromittin’ wi thae drawers? They’re a’ lockit, ilk ane o’ them —an’ they’re guid locks.”
“No ower guid to hae keyes to them—are they?”