“‘Ye’re weel aff there,’ says he. ‘I’ve had the hale o’ the Pittsburg works to my bed wi’ me,’ he says. ‘They were in my heid a’ the time when I couldna sleep, and they were on my chest a’ the time when I was sleepin’?’
“‘Whit wye that, paw?’ says the wee lassie. “‘I was feart something wad gae wrang, and I wad lose a’ the tred, and be puir again.’
“‘But I thocht ye wanted to die puir, paw?’ says the wee lassie.
“‘Ay, but I never had ony notion o’ leevin’ puir,’ says Mr Carnegie as smert’s ye like, ‘and that mak’s a’ the difference. If ye’re, no’ for anither motor carriage, wad ye no’ tak’ a new watch?’
“‘No, paw,’ says the wee lassie, ‘I’m no’ for anither watch. The only thing a watch tells ye is when it’s time to gang to bed, and then I’m no wantin’ to gang onywye. Whit I wad like wad be ane o’ thae watches that has haunds that dinna move when ye’re haein’ awfu’ fine fun.’
“‘Oh, ay!’ says her paw at that; ‘that’s the kind we’re a’ wantin’, but they’re no’ makin’ them, and I’m no’ shair that I wad hae muckle use for yin nooadays eyen if they were. If ye’ll no’ hae a watch, will ye hae a yacht, or a brass band, or a fleein’-machine, or a piebald pony?’
“‘I wad raither mak’ mud-pies,’ says the wee innocent.
“‘Mud-pies!’ cries her faither in horror, lookin’ roond to see that naebody heard her. ‘Wheesh! Maggie, it wadna look nice to see the like o’ you makin’ mud-pies. Ye havena the claes for’t. Beside, I’m tellt they’re no’ the go nooadays at a’.
“‘Weel,’ says she at that, ‘I think I’ll hae a hairy-heided lion.’
“‘Hairy-heided lion. Right!’ says Mr Carnegie. ‘Ye’ll get that, my wee lassie,” and cries doon the turret stair to the kitchen for his No. 9 secretary.