'Weel, gin ye like, ye can haud this hoose, an' a' 'at's in't, jist as it is, till the day o' yer deith. And ye'll aye keep it in order, an' the ga'le-room ready for me at ony time I may happen to come in upo' ye in want o' a nicht's quarters. But I wad like ye, gin ye hae nae objections, to tak Mistress Elshender to bide wi' ye. She's turnin' some frail noo, and I'm unner great obligation to her Sandy, ye ken.'
'Ay, weel that. He learnt ye to fiddle, Robert—I hoombly beg your pardon, sir, Mister Robert.'
'Nae offence, Betty, I assure ye. Ye hae been aye gude to me, and I thank ye hertily.'
Betty could not stand this. Her apron went up to her eyes.
'Eh, sir,' she sobbed, 'ye was aye a gude lad.'
'Excep' whan I spak o' Muckledrum, Betty.'
She laughed and sobbed together.
'Weel, ye'll tak Mistress Elshender in, winna ye?'
'I'll do that, sir. And I'll try to do my best wi' her.'
'She can help ye, ye ken, wi' yer washin', an' sic like.'