t turned her back on
her visitor, and went muttering about her gloomy kitchen: "The minister
no' being one to speak his sorrow to the newsmongering folk that
frequent your house, they say he has gotten ower it, do they? It's a'
they ken!"

"Janet, woman," said her visitor, "I canna but think you are
unreasonable in your anger. I said nothing derogatory to the minister;
far be it from me! But we can a' see that the house needs a head, and
the bairns need a mother. The minister's growing gey cheerful like, and
the year is mair than out; and--"

"Whisht, woman. Dinna say it. Speak sense if ye maun speak," said
Janet, with a gesture of disgust and anger.

"Wherefore should I no' say it?" demanded her visitor. "And as to
speaking sense--. But I'll no' trouble you. It seems you have friends
in such plenty that you can afford to scorn and scoff at them at your
pleasure. Good-day to you," and she rose to go.

But Janet had already repented her hot words.

"Bide still, woman! Friends dinna fall out for a single ill word. And
what with ae thing and anither I dinna weel ken what I'm saying or doing
whiles. Sit down: it's you that's unreasonable now."

This was Mistress Elspat Smith, the wife of a farmer--"no' that ill
aff," as he cautiously expressed it--a far more important person in the
parish than Janet, the minister's maid-of-all-work. It was a
condescension on her part to come into Janet's kitchen, under any
circumstances, she thought; and to be taken up sharply for a friendly
word was not to be borne. But they had been friends all their lives;
and Janet "kenned hersel' as gude a woman as Elspat Smith, weel aff or
no' weel aff;" so with gentle violence she pushed her back into her
chair, saying:

"Hoot, woman! What would folk say to see you and me striving at this
late day? And I want to consult you."

"But you should speak sense yourself, Janet," said her friend.

"Folk maun speak as it's given them to speak," said Janet; "and we'll
say nae mair about it. No' but that the bairns might be the better to
have some one to be over them. She wouldna hae her sorrow to seek, I
can tell you. No that they're ill bairns--"

"We'll say no more about it, since that is your will," said Mrs Smith,
with dignity; and then, relenting, she added,--

"You have a full handfu' with the eight of them, I'm sure."

"Seven only," said Janet, under her breath. "She got one of them safe
home with her, thank God. No'