“God forbid!” retorted Jean, as if the very mention of such a state of things was too dreadful to be polite. “—But, eh, ye’re weet!”
“Weet’s no the word,” said Robert, trying to laugh, but failing from sheer exhaustion, and the beginnings of an asthmatic attack.
The farmer, hearing their voices, came into the kitchen—a middle-sized and middle-aged, rather coarse-looking man, with keen eyes, who took snuff amazingly. His manner was free, with a touch of satire. He was proud of driving a hard bargain, but was thoroughly hospitable. He had little respect for person or thing, but showed an occasional touch of tenderness.
“Hoots, Rob!” he said roughly as he entered, “I thoucht ye had mair sense! What’s broucht ye here at sic a time?”
But as he spoke he held out his snuff-box to the old man.
“Fell needcessity, sir,” answered Robert, taking a good pinch.
“Necessity!” retorted the farmer. “Was ye oot o’ meal?”
“Oot o’ dry meal, I doobt, by this time, sir,” replied Robert.
“Hoots! I wuss we war a’ in like necessity—weel up upo’ the hill i’stead o’ doon here upo’ the haugh (river-meadow). It’s jist clean ridic’lous. Ye sud hae kenned better at your age, Rob. Ye sud hae thoucht twise, man.”
“’Deed, sir,” answered Robert, quietly finishing his pinch of snuff, “there was sma’ need, an’ less time to think, an’ Glashgar bursten, an’ the watter comin’ ower the tap o’ the bit hoosie as gien ’twar a muckle owershot wheel, an’ no a place for fowk to bide in. Ye dinna think Janet an’ me wad be twa sic auld fules as pit on oor Sunday claes to sweem in, gien we thoucht to see things as we left them whan we gaed back! Ye see, sir, though the hoose be fun’t upo’ a rock, it’s maist biggit o’ fells, an’ the foundation’s a’ I luik even to see o’ ’t again. Whan the force o’ the watter grows less, it’ll come doon upo’ the riggin’ wi’ the haill weicht o’ ’t.”