“I wadna live in ony ither place war ye to pay me for’t,” answered Geordie.
“Very good—dat is a very good answer,” said the woman; “dere is a little money for you.”
“I dinna tak siller for tellin’ folk whar I live,” said Geordie; “but, if there’s onything else I can, in my capacity o’ cadie, do for ye, maybe I may then condescend to tak yer siller.”
“Mon Dieu! vat a trange fellow!” ejaculated the woman. “Vell, can you tell me if a young woman, carrying the name of Jessie Varriston, lives up dat stair?” pointing with her hand.
“I ken the lassie as weel as I ken mysel,” answered Geordie; “she lives just whar ye hae said.”
“Very goot—very goot—dat is just vat I vant—un sage homme dis—excellent goot chap. Now, tell me if de girl lives vit an imbecile that is von idiot, called George Villison, and how long she has lived vit him, vere she comes from, and vat is her history.”
“Ye hae asked four questions a’ in ae breath,” said Geordie, who wanted a prologue, to give him time to consider how much he could say, so as to serve the two purposes of safety and drawing out the woman at the same time. “It’s no quite fair, to an ignorant man like me, to put sae mony questions at a time; but it’s my wish to serve ye, an’ I’ll do my best to answer them. Jessie Warriston lives wi’ the idiot cratur Geordie Willison’s mither, and she has lived wi’ her for seventeen years, that is, since she was a bit bairn. I’m thinking she’ll be a granddochter o’ Widow Willison’s—dinna ye think sae yersel’?”
“De brute!” muttered the woman to herself—“de brute is begun, like all de rest of his countrymen, to put de interrogation ven he should give de respond. You do not know den de girl’s history, do you not?”
“No, but maybe I may be able to get it for ye,” answered Geordie, unwilling to be dismissed simpliciter.
“Very vell, anoter time—I vish you, in de meantime, to carry dis letter to Ludovic Brodie, Esq. of Birkiehaugh. Do you know vere he lives?”