“I saw ye,” said Eppie, speaking with a wire in her mouth, “gaein’ on terr’ble wi’ Mysy Haggart at the pump last Saturday.”      

       “We was juist amoosin’ oorsel’s,” said Sam’l.     

       “It’ll be nae amoosement to Mysy,” said Eppie, “gin ye brak her heart.”      

       “Losh, Eppie,” said Sam’l, “I didna think o’ that.”      

       “Ye maun kin weel, Sam’l, ‘at there’s mony a lass wid jump at ye.”      

       “Ou, weel,” said Sam’l, implying that a man must take these things as they come.     

       “For ye’re a dainty chield to look at, Sam’l.”      

       “Do ye think so, Eppie? Ay, ay; oh, I d’na kin am onything by the ordinar.”      

       “Ye mayna be,” said Eppie, “but lasses doesna do to be ower-partikler.”      

       Sam’l resented this, and prepared to depart again.     

       “Ye’ll no tell Bell that?” he asked, anxiously.     

       “Tell her what?”      

       “Aboot me an’ Mysy.”      

       “We’ll see hoo ye behave yersel’, Sam’l.”      

       “No ‘at I care, Eppie; ye can tell her gin ye like. I widna think twice o’        tellin’ her mysel’.”      

       “The Lord forgie ye for leein’, Sam’l,” said Eppie, as he disappeared down Tammy Tosh’s close. Here he came upon Henders Webster.     

       “Ye’re late, Sam’l,” said Henders.     

       “What for?”      

       “Ou, I was thinkin’ ye wid be gaen the length o’ T’nowhead the nicht, an’        I saw Sanders Elshioner makkin’ ‘s wy there an ‘oor syne.”      

       “Did ye?” cried Sam’l, adding craftily, “but it’s naething to me.”      

 Prev. P 4/102 next