'Naething, John.' She sighed heavily.
'What's wrang, wife?'
'I was wishin' we had a niece called Maggie. . . . I suppose it's nae use askin' if ye ever heard o' Macgreegor ha'ein' an acquaintance o' that name.'
'Maggie? Weel, it's no what ye would call a unique name. But what——'
'Listen, John. When Christina was here the day, a wee paircel cam' for Macgreegor, an' when I opened it, there was a pair o' socks wi'—wi' fondest love from Maggie.'
'Hurray for Maggie!
'But, John, Christina read the words!'
'Oho!' John guffawed. 'She wudna like that—eh?'
'Man, what are ye laughin' at? Ye ken Christina's terrible prood.'
'No ony prooder nor Macgreegor is o' her. Lizzie.'