A' the same, gien ye dinna tak the help o' my
han', ye winna refuse me the sicht o' my een, puir thing!"
"There's nane sall luik upon her deid 'at wasna a pleesur' till
her livin'; an' ye ken weel eneuch, Bawby, she cudna thole (bear)
the sicht o' you."
"An' guid rizzon had she for that, gien a' 'at gangs throu' my
heid er I fa' asleep i' the lang mirk nichts be a hair better nor
ane o' the auld wives' fables 'at fowk says the holy buik maks sae
licht o'."
"What mean ye?" demanded Miss Horn, sternly and curtly.
"I ken what I mean mysel', an' ane that's no content wi' that,
bude (behaved) ill be a howdie (midwife). I wad fain hae gotten a
fancy oot o' my heid that's been there this mony a lang day; but
please yersel', mem, gien ye winna be neebourly."
"Ye s' no gang near her--no to save ye frae a' the ill dreams
that ever gethered aboot a sin stappit (stuffed) bowster!" cried
Miss Horn, and drew down her long upper lip in a strong arch.
"Ca cannie! ca cannie! (drive gently)," said Bawby. "Dinna anger
me ower sair, for I am but mortal. Fowk tak a heap frae you, Miss
Horn, 'at they'll tak frae nane ither, for your temper's weel kent,
an' little made o'; but it's an ill faured thing to anger the howdie
--sae muckle lies upo' her; an, I'm no i' the tune to put up wi'
muckle the nicht. I wonner at ye bein' sae oonneebourlike--at
sic a time tu, wi' a corp i' the hoose!"
"Gang awa--gan oot o't: it's my hoose," said Miss Horn, in a low,
hoarse voice, restrained from rising to tempest pitch only by the
consciousness of what lay on the other side of the ceiling above
her head.
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