“It’s a’ ower true though; but say nae a word about it. My billy Rob was obliged to chase her out o’ the country for it; an’ a burnin shame an’ a disgrace it was to the laird to take up wi’ the likes o’ her.—Deil a bit o’ her has the pith o’ a pipe-stapple!—Fich, fy! Away wi’ your spindle-shankit babyclouts—they’re no the gear.”
“As ye say, Meg. I like nane o’ the women that stand pon trifles.”
“Stand on trifles!—Ha! ha! that’s real good! that’s devilish clever for a—young man! Ha! ha!—Tut! that water’s weetin’ a’ my claes.—Wad ye hae made sic a choice, Barny?”
“D’ye think that I’m blind? or that I dinna ken what’s what?—Na, na, Meg! let me alane; I’m no sae young a cat but I ken a mouse by a feather.”
“If a’ our young men had the sense o’ you, Barny, some o’ them might get a pock an’ a wheen rustit nails to jingle in’t; they might get something better than a bit painted doll, wi’ a waist like a thread-paper, an’ hae nought ado foreby but to draw in the chair an’ sit down; but they’ll rin after a wheen clay-cakes baken i’ the sun, an’ leave the good substantial ait-meal bannocks to stand till they moul, or be pouched by them that draff an’ bran wad better hae mensed!—Tut! I’m ower deep into the stream again, without ever thinkin’ o’t.”
“That’s a’ ower true that ye hae been sayin’, Meg—ower true, indeed! But as to your news about the laird and Jane, I dinna believe a word o’t.”
“Oh! it’s maybe no true, ye ken! It’s very likely a lee! There’s naething mair likely, than that a’ their correspondence was as pure as the morning snaw. For a laird, ye ken, worth three thousand pund o’ yearly rental, to frequent the house o’ a bit lassie for an hour ilka day, an’ maybe ilka night to, wha kens; ye ken it’s a’ fair! there’s nought mair likely than that they’re very innocent! An’ sic a ane too as she is! little better, I trow, than she should be, gin a’ war kend. To be sure she has a son, that may arguy something for her decency. But after a’, I dinna blame her, for I ken by mysel——”
“Haud your tongue now, Meg, my bonny quean; for I ken ye are gaun to lee on yoursel, an’ speak nonsense into the bargain.”
“Ah! Barny! but ye are a queer ane!” (then in a whisper.) “I say—Barny—What do ye think o’ the bit farm o’ Hesperslack? How wad ye like to be tenant there yoursel, an’ hae servants o’ your ain?”