“Did ye ever see Bell reddin’ up?” asked Pete, recovering from his overthrow. He was a man who bore no malice.
“It’s a sicht,” said Sam’l, solemnly.
“Hoo will that be?” asked Jamie Deuchars.
“It’s weel worth yer while,” said Pete, “to ging atower to the T’nowhead an’ see. Ye’ll mind the closed-in beds i’ the kitchen? Ay, weel, they’re a fell spoiled crew, T’nowhead’s litlins, an’ no that aisy to manage. Th’ ither lasses Lisbeth’s haen had a michty trouble wi’ them. When they war i’ the middle o’ their reddin’ up the bairns wid come tum’lin’ aboot the floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didna fash lang wi’ them. Did she, Sam’l?”
“She did not,” said Sam’l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to add emphasis to his remark.
“I’ll tell ye what she did,” said Pete to the others. “She juist lifted up the litlins, twa at a time, an’ flung them into the coffin-beds. Syne she snibbit the doors on them, an’ keepit them there till the floor was dry.”
“Ay, man, did she so?” said Davit, admiringly.
“I’ve seen her do ‘t mysel’,” said Sam’l.
“There’s no a lassie mak’s better bannocks this side o’ Fetter Lums,” continued Pete.
“Her mither tocht her that,” said Sam’l; “she was a gran’ han’ at the bakin’, Kitty Ogilvy.”