'Haud yer lang, ill-scraipet tongue, Luckie Howden! We a' ken what maks ye sae bitter on the puir bairn. Gin ye'd gotten the tentin' o' her, an' three shillin's the week forby the feedin', ye'd hae thocht nae wrang; an' ye wadna hae been sae gleg to hearken to senseless lees, 'at ony body no clean doited micht ken better nor mind.'
'Ye ill-tongued limmer! Hoo daur ye even me to the like?'
'Ou ay! Ye're rael heigh, are na ye? But ye gaed fleechin' to Miss Mary for a' that, to get the bairn awa frae me, an' ye said ye'd tent her for half-a-crown. I'm thinkin' she'd no hae fared ower weel, the bonny lamb, gin ye'd hae gotten yer way. Ye'd hae shotten't by, wi' ait meal brue, an' drank the sweet milk yersel'!'
'An' gin I did speer Miss Brown for the bairn, was there ony wrang kenned anent it than? An' what for suld I no? Wad it no hae been weel for the bairn gin I had gotten my way! I hae raised twal o' my ain, an' I'm granny to naar twa score. But you! ye ne'er had but ane, an' ye kenned na hoo to guide it--made sae puir a job o't the Lord ne'er chanced ye wi' anither.'
'The Lord forgie ye! ye ill-tongued witch,' cried Eppie, while her brimming eyes overflowed. The image of her long-lost darling rose before her in all its winsome beauty, and she gathered up the baby in her lap, more closely to her motherly breast, and pressed it fondly for the sake of the one that was gone.
'An' sae gin ye hae the merry-begotten brat, an' the siller, ye maun e'en tak the disdain as weel. I'm blythe for mysel' noo, 'at the half-crowns didna come my gate. There war nane but decent men's bairns e'er lay in thae arms.' She stretched her spider-like tentacles, while the contents of her basket gave a warning rattle, 'An' that minds me I maun do my errand wi' the young man--I winna ca' him a minister, for the gown suld be strippet frae his shouthers; an' that's what it will be afore lang.'
'My certie! An' ye'se gang nae sic gate,' cried Eppie, rising and preparing to block the way. 'The minister's lyin' sair sick, an' he maunna be fashed wi' a randie auld tinkler wife's daft blathers. Set ye down! Though I winna say ye're walcome, an' I'se fesh Miss Brown.'
Miss Brown was fetched accordingly, she had overheard high words, and entered in some surprise.
'Mrs. Howden,' she said holding out her hand, 'so you have come at last to ask for the minister. The people seem to have cast us off altogether. Since he has been sick scarcely one has come to enquire for him.'
'Aweel, Miss Mary, an' it's no juist that has brocht me, ill doin' ye ken maun bring ill feelin'. Whan folk sees the abomination o' desolation sittin' in the holy place, as the Scripter micht word it, an the steward o' the Kirk's mysteries gien ower to the lusts o' the flesh, the douce Christi'n folk beut to hand awa. Touch not, taste not, haunel not, ye ken what the word says. An' I hae been thinkin', seein' hoo things hae come round, ye'll be best to tak tent o' yer bits o' dishes yersel', gin Eppie there can gar it gree wi' her walk an' conversation as a Christi'n wumman to mind that ill-faured scart o' a bairn, I see na at she may na keep yer teapat as weel!' So saying she lifted the cover of her basket, and proceeded to lay out the cups and saucers on the dresser.