“Her ladyship wad gi’e hersel’ sma’ concern gien the haill bilin’ o’ ye war whaur ye cam frae,” returned the factor. “An’ for the toon here, the fowk kens the guid o’ a quaiet caus’ay ower weel to lament the loss o’ ye.”
“The deil’s i’ the man!” cried the Partaness in high scorn. “He wad threep upo’ me ’at I was ane o’ thae lang-tongued limmers ’at maks themsels h’ard frae ae toon’s en’ to the tither! But I s’ gar him priv ’s words yet!”
“Ye see, sir,” interposed the mild Partan, anxious to shove extremities aside, “we didna ken ’at there was onything intill ’t by ord’nar. Gien we had but kent ’at he was oot o’ yer guid graces,——”
“Haud yer tongue afore ye lee, man,” interrupted his wife. “Ye ken weel eneuch ye wad du what Ma’colm MacPhail wad hae ye du, for ony factor in braid Scotlan’.”
“You must have known,” said the factor to the Partan, apparently heedless of this last outbreak of the generous evil temper, and laying a cunning trap for the information he sorely wanted, but had as yet failed in procuring—“else why was it that not a soul went with him? He could ill manage the boat alone.”
“What put sic buff an’ styte i’ yer heid, sir?” rejoined Meg; defiant of the hints her husband sought to convey to her. “There’s mony ane wad hae been ready to gang, only wha sud gang but him ’at gaed wi’ him an’ ’s lordship frae the first?”
“And who was that?” asked Mr Crathie.
“Ow! wha but Blue Peter?” answered Meg.
“Hm!” said the factor, in a tone that for almost the first time in her life made the woman regret that she had spoken, and therewith he rose and left the cottage.
“Eh, mither!” cried Lizzy, in her turn appearing from the ben-end, with her child in her arms, “ye hae wroucht ruin i’ the earth! He’ll hae Peter an’ Annie an’ a’ oot o’ hoose an’ ha’, come midsummer.”