“Sae I opens the paper, an’ there I sees a letter from our landlord, telling me that as I was a man o’ gude character, an’ very industrious, he had sent me the kye an’ the horse in a compliment to mak up my loss; an’ saying that as he had a gude opinion o’ me, he wad gie me a twa nineteen years’ lease o’ the Hope at the auld rent; and sae we’ll be happy yet, Jeanie.”
“What, sir!” cries the miller, “are ye thinking o’ my Jeanie, an’ we sae honour’t as we hae been this day?”
“Gude Heaven!” exclaimed Geordie Wilson, grippin’ the back o’ a chair to keep himsel up;—an’ nae wonder at it, when the miller spak sae gravely, that Jeanie hersel gied a great start. But weel can a bairn read what’s in a parent’s ee, though anither canna; an’ the next minute she had the miller round the neck,—“An’ how daured ye, father, gie me sic a fright?”
“Is—is—is your father only joking, Jeanie?” stammered Geordie Wilson.
“Atweel was I,” said the miller; “sae, tak her; an’ a’ that I hae to say is, that if I kent ony man that deserved her better, ye wadna hae gotten her. But dinna ye dawt her ower muckle, my man, or gie her a’ her ain way,—but mind ye what King James said the day.”
Geordie held up his hand, an’ lookit at Jeanie, as much as to say, “Do ye hear that, madam?”
But Jeanie, she half steekit her een, an’ made a mouth at him, just like, “An’ wha cares?”
“An’ now, bairns,” continued the miller, “I’m gaun to my room, and mauna be disturbit.”
“He’s awa to pray to his Maker,” says Jeanie, “for a’ that’s happened to us, an’ I think we should a’ do the same. At ony rate, I can read the Bible.”
“Hout now, woman,” says Geordie Wilson, “can ye no just let it stand a wee, an’ gang outby for a little?”