“Certainly, our good Elspeth is as wide as she is tall,” said my great-grandfather, laughing.
I wondered if this were so; and when my great-grandmother gave me a little yard-measure in a wooden castle, which had taken my fancy among the treasures of her work-box, the idea seized me of measuring Elspeth for my own satisfaction on the point. But the silken measure slipped, and caught on the battlements of the castle, and I lost my place in counting the figures, and at last was fain to ask Elspeth herself.
“How tall are you, Elspeth, please? As much as a yard?”
“Ou aye, my dear,” said Elspeth, who was deeply engaged in darning a very large hole in one of my great-grandfather’s socks.
“As much as two yards?” I inquired.
“Eh, no, my dearie,” said Elspeth. “That wad be six feet; and I’m not just that tall, though my father was six feet and six inches.”
“How broad are you, Elspeth, please?” I persisted. “As much as a yard?”
“I’m thinking I will be, my dear,” said Elspeth, “for it takes the full width of a coloured cotton to cut me a dress-front, and then it’s not over-big.”
“Are you as broad as two yards, do you think?” I said, drawing my ribbon to its full length from the castle, and considering the question.
Elspeth shook her head. She was biting the end off a piece of darning-cotton; but I rightly concluded that she would not confess to being two yards wide.