"Weel, the milk-woman—ye ken wha I mean?"
"Oh yes; Four-toes."
"Ha! ha! ay, just Four-toes, that's Mary Burt; ah! she was a buxom lass in my kennin'. Weel, she has sent me to you, in a quiet way, ye ken, to tell ye that the p'lice have an e'e on you. That ill-lookin' scoondrel, the cleverest o' the 'tectives, as they ca' them—I never saw him mysel, but dootless you'll ken him—has been seen in the coort here, wi' twa o' his beagles, and you're to tak tent."
"Yes, I know the ill-looking Christian dog. Vat ish your name?"
"Chirsty Anderson."
"Where do you live, Christian?"
"In Wardrop's Coort, at the tap o' the lang stair. And the milk-maid—ha! ha!—says you're to shift the things to my room i' the dark'nin', whaur Geordie, my laddie, will hae a plank lifted, and you can stow them awa, ayont the ken o' the cleverest o' them."
"And where ish the milk-woman?"
"In my room, pitchers an' a'."
"Well, tell her to keep there, as vash a prisoner, till I come to her place."