"The deil's in a lang memory; but I hinna," she replied, with more confidence, for by this time the whisky had disappeared in the accustomed bourne of departed spirits.
"Weel, it's a bad business that at your auld freend's at D——," said he, getting into his Scotch, for familiarity. "Hae ye heard?"
"Wha hasna heard? I kenned the lassie brawly; but I didna like her—she was never gude to a puir cratur like me."
"But they say ye ken mair than ither folk?" said he.
"Maybe I do," replied the woman, getting proud of the impeachment. "Hae we nae lugs and een, ay, and stamachs, like ither folk?"
"And could ye do naething to save this puir woman, the wife o' a gude buirdly man, wi' an open hand to your kin, and the mither o' a family?"
"I care naething about her being the wife o' a man, or the mither o' a family; but I ken what I ken."
"And sometimes what ye dinna ken, when you tell the lasses o' their lovers ye never saw."
"The deil tak their louping hearts into his hand for silly gawkies; if they werena a' red-wood about lads, they wadna heed me a whistle. But though I might try to get Mrs. S——'s head out o' the loop, I wadna like to put my ain in."
"I'll tak gude care o' that," said the writer. "I got ye out o' a scrape before."