"Gude forfend, Sir," said Betty, "that the like o' you should be evened to the gyle tub. I dinna wish for ony thing o' the kind."—"Then what is the matter?" asked the minister.
"It's witched, clean witched; as sure as I'm a born woman," said Betty.
"Naebody else will drink it, an' I canna drink it mysel'."
"You must not be superstitious, Betty," said the minister. "I'm no ony thing o' the kin'," said Betty, colouring, "an' ye ken it yoursel'; but twa brousts wadna be vinegar for naething." (She lowered her voice.) "Ye mun ken, Sir, that o' a' the leddies frae the Lammermuir, that hae been comin' and gaen, there was an auld rudas wife this fair, an' I'm certie she's witched the yill; and ye mun just look into ye'r buiks, an' tak off the withchin!"
"When do you brew, Betty?"—"This blessed day, gin it like you, Sir."
"Then, Betty, here is the thing you want, the same malt and water as usual?"
—"Nae difference, Sir?"
"Then when you have put the water to the malt, go three times round the vat with the sun, and in pli's name put in three shoolfu's of malt; and when you have done that, go three times round the vat, against the sun, and, in the devil's name, take out three bucketfuls of water; and take my word for it, the ale will be better."
"Thanks to your reverence; gude mornin."—Ibid.