“We be miserable creatures without ’em, Hector.”
“Aye, John, but woefu’ wretches wi’ ’em—generally.”
“Now, talking of Rose——”
“Man, she’s the exception! She’s like a beam o’ sunshine aboot the place ... sae neat, sae sweet ... an’ cook? Losh, Johnnie, she can roast or boil sae savoury ’twould mak’ a man wish he were a camel wi’ twa stomachs! An’ there’s Wully Tamson! Wully’s a changed man ... when fou, whilk is no’ vera often, he gangs aroond wi’oot his boots an’ sleeps i’ the woodshed. I’ fegs, Wully Tamson is——”
“But we are talking of Rose.”
“Aye, John, an’ ’tis a gey lucky man ye’ll be tae win sic a wife! She’s a walkin’ wonder!”
“Very true, Hector. And talking of wives, what of her aunt, the ... Mrs. Saunders?”
“Aye, an’ what o’ her, Johnnie?”
“Well, is it not reasonable to suppose that the so great virtues of the niece will be found intensified in the aunt?”