“Ye’ll need a line wi’ that yin, Erchie,” said his wife, who did not seem remarkably jealous of this first love.
“Ye should hear her singin’———”
“She wad hae been far better mendin’ her wee brither’s stockin’s, and no’ leavin’ her mither to dae’t,” said Jinnet. “She was a gey licht-heided yin.”
Erchie seemed merciless in his reminiscence,—I really felt sorry for his wife.
“Ye may say whit ye like to run her doon, but ye canna deny her looks.”.
“Her looks dinna concern me,” said Jinnet abruptly. “Ye’re jist an auld haver; think shame o’ yersel’!”
“Ye ken ye canna deny’t,” he went on. “It was alooed all over the place she was the belle. I wasna the only yin that was efter her wi’ my lavender breeks. She kept the Band o’ Hope for nearly twa years frae burstin’ up.”
“I’ll no’ listen to anither word,” protested Jinnet, now in obvious vexation; and mercifully there came a rapping at the door.
She returned to the kitchen with an envelope and a little parcel. Erchie winked at me, hugging to himself a great delight.
“I wonder wha in the world can be writin’ to me,” said she, looking at the addresses.