'It's no for you to speer! Them 'at pet the cat e'y kirn, can best fesh't out. Ye ken what's wrang, an' ye beut to mak it richt!'
'Hech! Tibbie, ye're troubled an' carefu' about mony things. But wan thing is needfu', as the Scriptur says, an' this is the Sawbith day, an' I'se speak o' naething else but that same. Think o' yer saul! Tibbie, yer sinfu' saul!'
'Speak o' yer ain sins, ye rascal! an' let mine be. Yer saul's black wi' them, an' it's time ye was mendin'.'
'Na, na, Tibbie! that wad be works! an' they're filthy rags. I'm a' for grace!'
'For grace? ye villain! Grace Grimmond belike, gin' a' folk says be true. An' what's to come o' Tibbie? But ye'se never wad wi' Grace onybody, sae lang as Tibbie's to the fore! Tak my word for't.'
'Ye tak me up wrang, neighbour, it's the kingdom o' heaven I'm after, whaur they neither marry nor are given in marriage. An' I houp ye'll win there yet! It's no o' women, puir silly earthen vessels I'm speakin' or wull speak this holy day.'
'But ye'll hae to speak o' them! Ay, an' speak plenn--or I'se doon t'ey minister an' hae ye up afore the Kirk-Session the maament the kirk skells. I'm for nae mair o' yer parryin' I'se tell ye--ye thocht ye had puir Tibbie a' by her lane, yon fore nicht, doon i' the loanin', whan ye ca'd God to witness ye took her for yer lawfu' wife, an' juist wanted it keepit quiet till the bawbees was gathered for the plennissin'. But ye didna keek ahint the dike, an' ye kenna wha was hearkenin'!'
Joseph's countenance fell, his eyes opened wider, and strove to read in the other's face whether the witness suggested was a reality or a mere ruse to overawe him. He took the red handkerchief from his hat, and mopped his brow as a partial screen for his features, and finding evasion no longer possible, concluded to mitigate his opponent's excitement, and manœuvre for time.
'Ye needna thrape that gate, Mistress Tirpie, gin Tibbie wad hae me; I kenna the lass in a' Glen Effick I'd sooner wad wi', but what ye said ey noo about the bawbees an' the plennissin' hauds true yet. I canna tak the lassie hame an' no a bed for her to lie down on, an' what for wad ye be raisin' a din an' a clash? It's a filthy fowl 'at files its ain nest. An' it's yer ain dochter the folk wad lichtly, gin ye didna haud yer tongue.
'But ye can bide wi' me, Joseph, till yer gear's gathered; I'se be blythe to hae ye.'