“But how could you recollect me?” I said.
“I have often seen you since I left your father’s, sir. But it was really, I believe, that I hear more about you than anything else, every day of my life.”
“I do not understand you.”
“From old Margaret, I mean.”
“Dear old Margaret! Is she alive?”
“Alive and hearty, though quite bedridden. Why, sir, she must be within near sight of a hundred.”
“Where does she live?”
“In the old cottage, sir. Nothing will make her leave it. The new laird wanted to turn her out; but Margaret muttered something at which he grew as white as his shirt, and he has never ventured across her threshold again.”
“How do you see so much of her, though?”
“I never leave her, sir. She can’t wait on herself, poor old lady. And she’s like a mother to me. Bless her! But your honour will come and see her?”