“Nay, I’ll swear it upon my soul’s salvation! She had seen saxty winters and mair, afore e’er she died to trouble us!”
“I’ll wager my best new goun,” said the maiden, “that saxteen would be nearer the mark.”
“But wha was she like, Andrew?” said the old woman. “Was she like auld Janet that was drowned in the burn forenaint? or that auld witch that your maister hanged for stealing his pet lamb? or was she like——”
“Are you sure she was na like me, Andrew?” said Effie, looking archly in his face.
“You—pshaw! Faith, guid mither, she was like to naebody that I ken, unless it be auld Elspeth, the cobbler’s wife, that was blamed for a’ the mischief or misfortunes o’ the kintra roun’, and was drowned at last for having ‘sense aboon the lave.’”
“And how was she dressed, Andrew?”
“In that horrible three-cornered hat, which may I be blinded if ever I seek to look upon again!—an’ in a lang blue apron——”
“Green, Andrew!” cried Effie, twirling her own green apron round her thumb.
“How you like to tease ane!” said the lover. Poor Andrew did not at all enter into his mistress’s pleasantry,[Pg 139] for he laboured under a great depression of spirits, and never lifted his eyes from the ground.
“But ye hae na tauld us what she said, lad!” said the old woman, assuming an air of deeper mystery as each question was put and answered in its turn.