"Twa hunder pound Scots, a braw glebe, four bolls o' beir," replied Elsie, counting on her crooked and wrinkled fingers, "aucht chalders—"
"Peace, woman Elsie, for this enumeration of thine savours of a love for the things of this life."
"And a braw pulpit. O, but it's grand you'll be, Ichabod, when in full birr under your sounding board. But alake, Sir," she added, turning to Walter, "arena' these fearfu' times?'
"Sad indeed, gudewife."
"I was in the mealmarket this morning, and oh, Sirs, it was a sight to rend the heart of a nether millstane to see the hungry bairns and wailing mothers worrying about the half-filled pokes. God help them! the puir folk are deeing fast the west country we hear."
"'Tis a scourge on the land for its former sins," said the preacher in his most sepulchral tone; "but let us hope that the faith of its people will save it!"
"You'll hae come from some far awa' country I'm thinking, Sir?" said Elsie, inquisitively, for the extreme sadness of Walter interested her extremely.
"True I have, good woman."
"France, I fancy? that land o' priests and persecution."
"From Holland last. I am a merchant, and deal in broadcloths and cart saddles. From Holland last," he repeated, for their inquisitiveness made him uneasy.