“Ye wadna hae him spread an ill report o’ his ain mither?”
“Put she’ll not pe his mother, and you’ll not pelieve it, mem.”
“Ye canna priv that—you nor him aither.”
“It will pe more as would kill her poy to haf a woman like tat to ta mother of him.”
“It wad be near-han’ as ill ’s haein’ her for a wife,” assented Miss Horn; “but no freely (quite),” she added.
The old man sought the door, as if for a breath of air; but as he went, he blundered, and felt about as if he had just been struck blind; ordinarily he walked, in his own house at least, as if he saw every inch of the way. Presently he returned and resumed his seat.
“Was the bairn laid mither nakit intill yer han’s, Maister MacPhail?” asked Miss Horn, who had been meditating.
“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.”