“No, Ranald, that’s not it. I had heard whispers going about; and last Saturday, after we came home from John Adam’s, and after I had told Elsie about Jamie, I ran up the street to old Eppie. You would have got nothing out of her, for she would not have liked to tell you; but she told me all about it.”
“What a creature you are, Turkey! Everybody tells you everything.”
“No, Ranald; I don’t think I am such a gossip as that. But when you have a chance, you ought to set right whatever you can. Right’s the only thing, Ranald.”
“But aren’t you afraid they’ll call you a meddler, Turkey? Not that I think so, for I’m sure if you do anything against anybody, it’s for some other body.”
“That would be no justification if I wasn’t in the right,” said Turkey. “But if I am, I’m willing to bear any blame that comes of it. And I wouldn’t meddle for anybody that could take care of himself. But neither old Eppie nor your father can do that: the one’s too poor, and the other too good.”
“I was wondering what you meant by saying my father couldn’t take care of himself.”
“He’s too good; he’s too good, Ranald. He believes in everybody. I wouldn’t have kept that Kelpie in my house half the time.”
“Did you ever say anything to Kirsty about her?”
“I did once; but she told me to mind my own business. Kirsty snubs me because I laugh at her stories. But Kirsty is as good as gold, and I wouldn’t mind if she boxed my ears—as indeed she’s done—many’s the time.”
“But what’s the Kelpie been doing to old Eppie?”