Jacky repelled the insult with immense disdain.
“If I had Johnnie Halflin here, I would douk him in the Oran.”
“Ye might douk him in the water o’ Leith, Jacky,” said Bessie, laughing; “but the Oran’s no here, mind.”
Jacky was indignantly silent.
“And wha is she?” inquired Tibbie.
“She’s a little girl,” said Jacky, with some dignity, “a very bonnie wee foreign lady; and Mrs. Melder keeps her at the Mill, and she speaks in a strange tongue, and sings sangs—low, sweet, floating sangs—ye never heard the like of them, and her name is Lilie.”
“Lilie what?”
“I dinna ken. She says her name is Lilia Santa Clara, but neabody kens whether that’s her last name or no.”
“Losh!” exclaimed Tibbie, “will she be canny, after a’?”
“Canny!—you should look nearer yoursel,” said Bessie, with laughing malice.