“Nae doubt,” rejoined the spaewife, “a bridal time is a thrang time, but it should be a heartsome ane too.”
“And hae ye the ill-manners to say it’s otherwise?” retorted Dame Seton. “Gang awa wi’ ye, without anither bidding; ye’re making the lassie’s braws as black as coom.”
“Will ye hae yer fortune spaed, my bonny May?” said the woman, as she seized Mary’s hand.
“Na, na,” answered Mary, “I ken it but ower weel already.”
“You’ll be married soon, my bonny lassie,” said the sibyl.
“Hech, sirs, that’s piper’s news, I trow,” retorted the dame, with great contempt; “can ye no tell us something better worth the hearing?”
“Maybe I can,” answered the spaewife. “What would you think if I were to tell you that your daughter keeps the half o’ the gold ring she broke wi’ the winsome sailor lad near her heart by night and by day?”
“Get out o’ my house, ye tinkler!” cried Dame Seton, in wrath; “we want to hear nae such clavers.”
“Ye wanted news,” retorted the fortune-teller; “and I trow I’ll gie ye mair than you’ll like to hear. Hark ye, my bonnie lassie, ye’ll be married soon, but no to Jamie Binks,—here’s an anchor in the palm of your hand, as plain as a pikestaff.”
“Awa wi’ ye, ye leein’ Egyptian that ye are,” cried Dame Seton, “or I’ll set the dog on you, and I’ll promise ye he’ll no leave ae dud on your back to mend another.”