“And suppose I haud it for ye, and help ye?” says he.
“Weel aweel,” says Jeanie, “gin ye like; we’ll hae’t the sooner ower.”
And John Murdoch did his best, and was very active; and when a’ was dune, he says, “An’ now, my dawtie, what am I to get for helping ye?”
“Nae mair,” quoth Jeanie, “than the thanks ye hae gotten already.”
“But in my kintra,” says John Murdoch, “when a lad helps a lass to clean out a kirn, he aye gets ae kiss at least.”
“We ken naething about thae fashions hereabouts,” says Jeanie, “sae haud ye out o’ my gate!”
But as she passed him, John Murdoch, who thought she wasna in earnest, drew her suddenly to him, and he had ta’en twa or three kisses before Jeanie could recollect herself; but the next minute she threw him frae her, and catching the ladle, she ran to the parritch-pat on the fire, and whipped aff the lid; and if John Murdoch, who saw what was coming, hadna darted out at the back door, he wad hae had it a’ about him; as it was, a part o’ the het parritch played splarge aff the wa’ on his coat.
“And now,” thought John Murdoch, “is this real anger, or is’t put on?” and he stood a wee bit aff, joking an’ jeering her.
“Aye, aye,” says he, “ye’re makin’ an unco wark about it, just as if ye hadna been kissed a dozen times frae lug to lug, an’ by as mony lads, and no said a word about it.”
“Ye notorious vagabond that ye are,” cried Jeanie,—“but I’se sort ye for’t;” and she flung down the ladle and ran to loose the muckle dog.