"Hould thy tongue, woman, and don't be milking that ould cow any more—it's dry, I tell thee."
It was at this moment that Bessie came downstairs, and Dan, who was on the three-legged stool before the fire, making wry faces as he dragged off his mill-boots with a boot-jack, fell on her at first with his favourite weapon, irony.
"Aw, the smart you are in your new hat, girl—smart tremenjous!"
"I didn't think you'd have the taste to like it," said Bessie, sitting at the table.
"Taste, is it?" said Dan. "Aw, the grand we are! The pride that's in some ones is extraordinary though. There'll be no holding you! You'll be going up and up! Your mother has always been used of a poor man's house and the wind above the thatch. But you'll be wanting feather beds and marble halls, I'm thinking."
"They won't be yours to find then, so you needn't worry," said Bessie.
"You think not? I'm not so sure of that. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards .... So you're for Douglas, are you?"
"Yes, I am, if you'll let me take my tea in time for the train."
"Aisy, bogh, aisy!" said Mrs. Collister.
"Well, you're your own woman now, so I suppose you've got lave to go," said Dan.