"Och! no; he wass his clo'es on," answered Duncan.
"Hae ye ony o' them left?" she asked again.
"Inteet not," answered Duncan. "Yes, inteet not."
"Ye lay at the Salmon, didna ye?"
"Yes, mem, and they wass coot to her."
"Wha drest the bairn till ye?"
"Och! she 'll trest him herself." said Duncan, still jealous of
the women who had nursed the child.
"But no aye?" suggested Miss Horn.
"Mistress Partan will pe toing a coot teal of tressing him, sometimes.
Mistress Partan is a coot 'oman when she 'll pe coot--fery coot
when she 'll be coot."
Here Malcolm entered, and Miss Horn told him what she had seen of
the laird, and gathered concerning him.
"That luiks ill for Phemy," remarked Malcolm, when she had described
his forlorn condition. "She canna be wi' 'im, or he wadna be like
that. Hae ye onything by w'y o' coonsel, mem?"
"I wad coonsel a word wi' the laird himsel'--gien 't be to be
gotten. He mayna ken what 's happent her, but he may tell ye the
last he saw o' her, an' that maun be mair nor ye ken."
"He 's taen sic a doobt o' me 'at I 'm feart it 'll be hard to come
at him, an' still harder to come at speech o' 'im, for whan he 's
frichtit he can hardly muv is jawbane--no to say speyk. I maun
try though and du my best. Ye think he's lurkin' aboot Fife Hoose,
div ye, mem?"
"He's been seen there awa' this while--aff an' on."
"Weel, I s' jist gang an' put on my fisher claes, an set oot
at ance. I maun haud ower to Scaurnose first, though, to lat them
ken 'at he 's been gotten sicht o'.
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