my auld banes, aither, Maister Bruce!
Maybe I'm ower blin' to hae the rheumatize; or to smell the auld weet
thack whan there's been a scatterin' o' snaw or a drappy o' rain o' the
riggin'!"

"I didna want to anger ye, Tibbie. A' that ye say deserves attention.
It would be a shame to lat an auld body like you--"

"No that auld, Maister Bruce, gin ye kent the trowth!"

"Weel, ye're no ower young to need to be ta'en guid care o'--are ye,
Tibbie?"

Tibbie grunted.

"Weel, to come to the pint. There's nae doobt the hoose wants a hantle
o' doctorin'."

"'Deed does't," interposed Tibbie. "It'll want a new door. For forbye
'at the door's maist as wide as twa ordinar doors, it was ance in twa
halves like a chop-door. And they're ill jined thegither, and the win'
comes throu like a knife, and maist cuts a body in twa. Ye see the bit
hoosie was ance the dyer's dryin' hoose, afore he gaed further doon the
watter."

"Nae doobt ye're richt, Tibbie. But seein' that I maun lay oot sae
muckle, I'll be compelled to pit anither thrippence on to the rent."

"Ither thrippence, Robert Bruce! That's three thrippences i' the ook in
place o' twa. That's an unco rise! Ye canna mean what ye say! It's a'
that I'm able to do to pay my saxpence. An auld blin' body like me
disna fa' in wi' saxpences whan she gangs luikin aboot wi' her lang
fingers for a pirn or a prin that she's looten fa'."

"But ye do a heap o' spinnin', Tibbie, wi' thae lang fingers. There's
naebody in Glamerton spins like ye."

"Maybe ay and maybe no. It's no muckle that that comes till. I wadna
spin sae weel gin it warna that the Almichty pat some sicht into the
pints o' my fingers, 'cause there was nane left i' my een. An' gin ye
mak ither thrippence a week oot o' that, ye'll be turnin' the wather
that He sent to ca my mill into your dam; an' I doot it'll play ill
water wi' your wheels."

"Hoot, hoot! Tibbie, woman! It gangs sair against me to appear to be
hard-hertit."

"I hae nae doobt. Ye dinna want to _appear_ sae. But do ye ken that I
mak sae little by the spinnin' ye mak sae muckle o', that the kirk
alloos me a shillin' i' the week to mak up wi'? And gin it warna for
kin' frien's, it's ill livin' I wad hae in dour weather like this.
Dinna ye imaigine, Mr Bruce, that I hae a pose o' my ain. I hae
naething ava, excep' sevenpence in a stockin'-fit. And it wad hae to
come aff o' my tay or something ither 'at I wad ill miss."

"Weel, that may be a' verra true