As he spoke he turned, and, in bodily reference to fact, went to the chest into which he had looked but a few minutes before. To his astonishment, there was enough in it for a good many meals! He turned again, and stared at Grizzie. But she had once more seated herself in his father’s chair, with her back to him, and before he could speak she went on thus:
“Shame fa’ him, say I, ’at made his siller as a flesher i’ the wast wyn’ o’ Howglen, to ettle at a gentleman o’ a thoosan’ year for ane o’ his queans! But, please the Lord, we s’ haud clear o’ ’im yet!”
“Hootoot, Grizzie! ye canna surely think ony sic man wad regaird the like o’ me as worth luikin’ efter for a son-in-law! He wadna be sic a gowk!”
“Gowk here, gowk there! he kens what ye are an’ what ye’re worth—weel that! Hasna he seen ye at the scythe? Disna he ken there’s ten times mair to be made o’ ae gentleman like you, wi’ siller at his back, nor ten common men sic as he’s like to get for his dothers? Weel kens he it’s nae faut o’ you or yours ’at ye’re no freely sae weel aff as some ’at oucht an’ wull be waur, gien it be the Lord’s wull, or a’ be dune! Disna he ken ’at Castle Warlock itsel’ wad be a warl’s honour to ony leddy—no to say a lass broucht up ower a slauchter-hoose? Shame upo’ him an’ his!”
“Weel, Grizzie,” rejoined Cosmo, “ye may say ’at ye like, but I dinna believe he wad hae dune what he has dune—”
“Cha!” interrupted Grizzie; “what has he dune? Disna he ken the word o’ a Warlock’s as guid as gowd? Disna he ken your wark, what wi’ yer pride an’ what wi’ yer ill-placed graititude, ’ill be worth til ’im that o’ twa men? The man’s nae coof! He kens what he’s aboot! Haith, ye needna waur (spend) muckle graititude upo’ sic benefactions!”
“To show you, Grizzie, that you are unfair to him, I feel bound to tell you that he pressed on me the loan of fifty pounds.”
“I tellt ye sae!” screamed Grizzie, starting again to her feet. “God forbid ye took ’im at his offer!”
“I did not,” answered Cosmo; “but all the same—”
“The Lord be praised for his abundant an’ great mercy!” cried Grizzie, more heartily than devoutly. “We may contrive to win ower the twa poun’, even sud ye no work it oot; but fifty!—the Lord be aboot us frae ill! so sure ’s deith, ye wad hae had to tak the lass!—Cosmo, ye canna but ken the auld tale o’ muckle-moo’d Meg?”