“Somebody gied me it, and it wasna Maister Abercorn, either,” she dourly answered.
“Do you know what was in it?”
“No, me—I never asked.”
“Did you not write the letter that was inside?”
“No, I canna write, or read either—a’body kens that.”
“You could rob, though, at a pinch, I suppose?” I dryly returned.
She flashed a pair of angry eyes on me, and then said—“I never robbed onybody in my life, and it’s no likely I’ll begin now.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell all you know about that parcel, or go to jail, that’s all,” I shortly answered.
“I canna leave the lassie,” she said, dourly, “she’s rael ill, and there’s naebody can attend till her like me.”
“I thought she was going away abroad?”