"Aweel, Miss Marjory," he said, "I'm thinkin' not. Seems to me that the bonnie flowers hae been gien us for a gude example. They aye bloom as best they can. Sunshine an' shade, rain an' wind, they tak them a' as God Almichty sends them, an' are aye sweet, an' aye content just to dae their best. I dinna ken for certain, Miss Marjory, but that's what I'm thinkin'."
"I think so too, Peter. They certainly don't look as if they were ever naughty. My new friend is just like a lovely white rose, and she doesn't look as if she could ever be naughty either."
"H'm," remarked Peter, "she's no mortal, lassie, then."
"Peter, you're not a bit nice about the Foresters. I tell you they are just as sweet as they can be, both Blanche and her mother."
"It's just this," replied Peter, thus admonished. "I'm no a man that can gae heid ower ears a' in a meenit; I must prove folks first. These Foresters, they're English for ae thing, an' maybe they'll bring new fangles to Braeside, which, bein' a Scotsman, I canna gie my approbation to. I'm no sayin' they wull, but they micht. Na, na, Miss Marjory; I maun prove them first."
"You're an obstinate old thing; but you can begin proving, as you call it, this very afternoon, for Blanche is coming to tea; and I say, Peter, will you spare time to take us down to the Low Farm after tea? Blanche comes from London, and I'm sure she would love to see over it."
"London," muttered Peter in a voice that meant volumes of disapproval.
"Now, do be nice, and promise," coaxed Marjory. "I'm going to ask Lisbeth a favour too, and I'm sure she'll say yes."
Not to be outdone in good nature by his wife, the old man at last gave his promise.
"Gin the doctor can spare me," he said.