r
twa for his denner or his tea. Moses Certricht's a soor, nyattery bit
body, an' he tarragats the wife most unmercifu' aboot ilky little bit
kyowowy. She may be nae better than she's ca'd. She has nae throwpet
wi' her wark, an' she's terriple weirdless wi' her hoose; but she get's
michty little frae Moses to mend her--that's my opinion."

"Muckle aboot ane, Bawbie, as the deil said to the cobbler," says
Mysie. "I wudna say but you're mibby richt eneuch."

"Dawtit dochters mak' daidlin' wives," said the Gairner's wife. "She
was spoilt at hame, afore Moses saw her. Her mither thocht there was
nae lassies like hers, an' I'm shure she saired them hand an' fit. But
you'll of'en see't, that wirkin' mithers mak' feckless dochters. At
the same time, as my mither used of'en to say, an ill shearer never got
a guid heuk, an', I daursay, Moses an' his wife, as uswally occurs,
baith blame ane anither."

We feenisht oor tea, an' got set doon at the winda wi' oor stockin's
an' oor seams, juist to hae a richt corrieneuchin, as Mistress Winton
ca'd it. Mysie an' me were baith at ribbit socks, so we tried a stent
wi' ane anither. But Mysie's tongue gaed fully fester than her wires,
an' I'd raither the better o' her. She forgot a' aboot her intaks, an'
had her stockin' leg a guid bit ower lang when she cam' to the tnot on
her wirsit.

"A thochtless body's aye thrang," said the Gairner's wife, as Mysie
began to tak' doon what she'd wrocht.

"Toot ay," said Mysie. "Gin a budy be gaen doon the brae, ilky ane
'ill gie ye a gundy."

The twa keepit at it wi' their proverbs till I got akinda nervish, d'ye
ken. They were that terriple wyze, that, as fac's ocht, mind you, they
near drave some o' the rest o's daft.

"Did you hear tell that Ribekka here was genna get Jeems Ethart?" said
Mistress Mollison to the Gairner's wife, juist to get her on to Beek's
tap.

Ribekka blushed like a lassie o' fifteen, an' bringin' her tongue alang
her upper lip, she shook her heid an' says, "Juist a lot o' blethers.
Jeems wudna hae a puir thing like me."

"Ye dinna tell me!" said Mistress Winton, never lattin' wink she heard
Ribekka. "That's the wey o't is't? Imphm! What d'ye think o' that,
na? Weel dune, Ribekka. He's a fine coodie man, Jeems; an' he'll tak'
care o' Ribekka, the young taed. Wha wudda thocht it?"

Ribekka had her moo half fu' o' the lace on her saitin apron, an' was
enjoyin' the raggin' fine, altho' she was terripl