"Weel?" said Miss Horn interrogatively, and was silent also.
"I thocht ye micht want a cast o' my callin'," said the woman.
"Na, na; there's no a han' 'at s' lay finger upo' the bairn but
mine ain," said Miss Horn. "I had it a' ower, my lee lane, afore the
skreigh o' day. She's lyin' quaiet noo--verra quaiet--waitin'
upo' Watty Witherspail. Whan he fesses hame her bit boxie, we s'
hae her laid canny intill 't, an' hae dune wi' 't."
"Weel, mem, for a leddy born, like yersel', I maun say, ye tak it
unco composed!"
"I'm no awaur, Mistress Catanach, o' ony necessity laid upo' ye
to say yer min' i' this hoose. It's no expeckit. But what for sud
I no tak' it wi' composur'? We'll hae to tak' oor ain turn er lang,
as composed as we hae the skiel o', and gang oot like a lang nibbit
can'le--ay, an lea' jist sic a memory ahin' some o' 's, Bawby."
"I kenna gien ye mean me, Miss Horn," said the woman; "but it's no
that muckle o' a memory I expec' to lea' ahin' me."
"The less the better," muttered Miss Horn; but her unwelcome visitor
went on:
"Them 'at 's maist i' my debt kens least aboot it; and then mithers
canna be said to hae muckle to be thankfu' for. It's God's trowth,
I ken waur nor ever I did mem. A body in my trade canna help fa'in'
amo' ill company whiles, for we're a' born in sin, an' brocht furth
in ineequity, as the Buik. says; in fac', it's a' sin thegither: we
come o' sin an' we gang for sin; but ye ken the likes o' me maunna
clype (tell tales).
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