‘Haud thy tongue wi’ sic nonsense; that happened when ye were but bairns. I’m sure there’s no a blither, bonnier quean in a’ the kintra side.’
‘I’ll no deny that she has red cheeks, and e’en like blobs o’ honey-dew in a kail-blade; but father—Lord, father! she has a neive like a beer mell.’
‘But for a’ that, a sightly lad like you might put up wi’ her, Watty. I’m sure ye’ll gang far, baith east and west, before ye’ll meet wi’ her marrow; and ye should reflek on her tocher, the whilk is a wull-ease that’s no to be found at ilka dykeside.’
‘Aye, so they say; her uncle ’frauded his ain only dochter, and left her a stocking-fu’ o’ guineas for a legacy.—But will she let me go halver?’
‘Ye need na misdoubt that; na, an ye fleech her weel, I would na be surprised if she would gi’e you the whole tot; and I’m sure ye ne’er hae seen ony woman that ye can like better.’
‘Aye, but I hae though,’ replied Watty confidently.
‘Wha is’t?’ exclaimed his father, surprised and terrified.
‘My mother.’
The old man, sordid as he was, and driving thus earnestly his greedy purpose, was forced to laugh at the solemn simplicity of this answer; but he added, resuming his perseverance,—
‘True! I did na think o’ thy mother, Watty—but an t’ou was ance marriet to Betty Bodle, t’ou would soon like her far better than thy mother.’