“But I do say it. She goes her ways like ane that hasna been used with doin’ the bidding o’ anither.”
“She doesna need to be bidden. She kens her work, and she does it. What would ye have?” said the weaver, who had stopped his loom to hear through the open window what was to be said.
“That’s true,” said his wife; “but I ken what Mistress Coats means for a’ that.”
“Ye may say that! It’s easy seen, though no’ just so easy shown. Is she like the ither lassies o’ the place? Who ever saw her bare feet? It’s hose and shoon out and in, summer and winter, with her.”
“And for that matter who ever saw her bare arms, unless it was in her ain kitchen, or in the milk-house? Even gaen to the well her sleeves are put doon to her hands.”
“I should like to ken the folk she belongs to.”
“They’re decent folk, if she’s a specimen o’ them. Ye needna be feared about that,” said the weaver.
“It’s no’ that I’m feared, but ane would think that she was feared herself. Never a word has passed her lips of where she came from or who she belongs to.”
“Never to the like o’ you and me. But the minister’s satisfied, and Mrs Hume. And as to the folk she cam’ o’, we hae naething to do wi’ them.”
“That may be; but when there is naething to be said, there’s maistly something to be hid.”