"Ye'll no tell onybody, wull ye, Maister Mowdiewort?" she said anxiously.
To Saunders this was a great deal better than being called a
"Cuif."
"Na, Jess, lass, I'll no tell a soul—no yin."
"No' even Meg-mind!" repeated Jess, who felt that this was a vital point.
So Saunders promised, though he had intended to do so on the first opportunity.
"Mind, if ye do, I'll never gie ye a hand wi' Meg again as lang as
I leeve!" said Jess emphatically.
"Jess, d'ye think she likes me?" asked the widower in a hushed whisper.
"Saunders, I'm jnist sure o't," replied Jess with great readiness.
"But she's no yin o' the kind to let on."
"Na," groaned Saunders, "I wuss to peace she was. But ye mind me that I gat a letter frae the young minister that I was to gie to Meg. But as you're the yin he comes to see, I maun as weel gie't direct to yoursel'."
"It wad be as weel," said Jess, with a strange sort of sea-fire like moonshine in her eyes.