“Naethin' tae speak o' aside you, Kirsty,” said Janet, in propitiation; “a'body kens what preevileges ye 've hed.”
“Ae brither an' twa half sisters, that 's a',” continued Kirsty, “for a' hed it frae her own lips; it's no worth mentionin'; gin a' hed seen nae mair tribble than that a' wud be ashamed tae show ma face in a sick hoose; lat's hear aboot yir man, Janet,” and Kirsty settled down to details.
“Did ye say half roond, Janet?” and she leaned forward with concern on every feature.
“That 's hoo it is; the ither side is as white as a bairn's skin; an' though he be ma man, a 'll say this for him, that he's aye hed clean blude an' nae marks; but what are ye glowerin' at? hae ye ony licht? speak, wumman.”
“This is a mair serious business, Janet, than onybody suspectit,” and Kirsty sighed heavily.
“Preserve's, Kirsty, what div ye think is the matter wi' Peter? tell's the warst at aince,” for Kirsty's face suggested an apocalypse of woe.
“A heat,” she said, still lingering over Leez-beth's shallow, amateur suggestion, “gotten at the hairst... rub it wi' whisky... ay, ay, it 's plain whar she gets her skill, 'at disna ken the differ atween the tribble o' a man an' a beast.
“Isn't maist michty,” and now Kirsty grew indignant, “'at a wumman o' Leezbeth's age cudna tell an eruption frae a jidgment?”
“Kirsty Stewart, hoo div ye ken that?” cried Janet, much lifted; “a' wes jalousin' that it passed ordinary, but what gars ye think o' jidgment?”
“A'm no the wumman tae meddle wi' sic a word lichtly. Na, na, a' micht hae gaed awa' an' said naethin' gin Leezbeth hedna been sae ready wi' her heats.