The boy gave him an expressive look; he was not apt to pay much attention to anyone, whether gentle or simple, beyond the pale of his own affairs, and Barclay had hitherto been outside his world. He now entered it as an object of contempt.
The sudden rattle of the cart brought Granny to the door.
‘That is a very dangerous horse of yours,’ said the lawyer, turning round.
‘Whisht! whisht!’ exclaimed she, ‘it was the laird got yon shelt to him; he’ll na thole[[1]] to hear ye speak that way.’
‘May I come in?’ asked Barclay, recalled to his object.
She ushered him into the cottage.
‘Yes, yes, I have heard about that,’ he remarked, as he sat down. ‘No doubt Jimmy is proud of the episode; it is not often a gentleman concerns himself so much about his tenant’s interests. I dare say, Mrs. Stirk, that you have no wish to change your landlord, eh?’
‘No for onybody hereabout,’ said the old woman.
‘Then I gather that you are no admirer of our gentry?’
‘A’ wasna saying that.’