ter my hens--I never lat onybody but
mysel' meddle wi' them, for they're jist as easy sp'ilt as ither fowk's
bairns; an' the twa doors o' the barn stan'in open, I took the straucht
ro'd throuw the same to win the easier at my feathert fowk, as my auld
minnie used to ca' them. I'm but a saft kin' o' a bein', as my faither
used to tell me, an' mak but little din whaur I gang, sae they couldna
hae h'ard my fut as I gaed; but what sud I hear--but I maun tell ye it
was i' the gloamin' last nicht, an' I wad hae tellt ye the same this
mornin', sir, seekin' yer fair coonsel, but ye was awa' 'afore I
kenned, an' I was resolvt no to lat anither gloamin' come ohn ta'en
precautions--what sud I hear, I say, as I was sayin', but a laich
tshe--tshe--tshe, somewhaur, I couldna tell whaur, as gien some had
mair to say nor wud be spoken oot! Weel, ye see, bein' ane accoontable
tae ithers for them 'at's accoontable to me, I stude still an'
hearkent: gien a' was richt, nane wad be the waur for me; an' gien a'
wasna richt, a' sud be wrang gien I could make it sae! Weel, as I say,
I hearkent--but eh, sir! jist gie a keek oot at that door, an' see gein
there bena somebody there hearkin', for that Eppy--I wudna lippen til
her ae hair! she's as sly as an edder! Naebody there? Weel, steek ye
the door, sir, an' I s' gang on wi' my tale. I stude an' hearkent, as
I was sayin', an' what sud I hear but a twasome toot-moot, as my auld
auntie frae Ebberdeen wud hae ca'd it--ae v'ice that o' a man, an' the
ither that o' a wuman, for it's strange the differ even whan baith
speyks their laichest! I was aye gleg i' the hearin', an' hae reason
for the same to be thankfu,' but I couldna, for a' my sharpness, mak
oot what they war sayin'. So, whan I saw 'at I wasna to hear, I jist
set aboot seein', an' as quaietly as my saft fit--it's safter nor it's
licht--wud carry me, I gaed aboot the barnflure, luikin' whaur onybody
could be hidden awa'.

"There was a great heap o' strae in ae corner, no hard again' the wa';
an' 'atween the wa' an' that heap o' thrashen strae, sat the twa. Up
gat my lord wi' a spang, as gien he had been ta'en stealin'. Eppy wud
hae bidden, an' creepit oot like a moose ahint my back, but I was ower
sharp for her: 'Come oot o' that, my lass,' says I. 'Oh, mistress
Brookes!' says my lord, unco ceevil, 'for my sake don't be hard upon
her.' Noo that angert me! For though I say the lass is mair to blame
nor the lad, it's no for the