“Ay will I. I’m na gaun to du ’t, ye ken. But sic a fine troot ’s that—the verra ane ye wad hae likit, mem!”
“Never ye min’ the troot. There’s mair whaur that cam frae. What anger’t her at ye?”
“Naething mair nor that I bude to gie Mistress Courthope the first wale (choice) o’ my fish.”
“The wuman’s no worth yer notice, ’cep to haud oot o’ her gait, laddie; an’ that ye had better luik till, for she’s no canny. Dinna ye anger her again gien ye can help it. She has an ill luik, an’ I canna bide her.—Hae, there’s yer siller. Jean, tak in this fish.”
During the latter part of the conversation they had been standing at the door, while Miss Horn ferreted the needful pence from a pocket under her gown. She now entered, but as Malcolm waited for Jean to take the fish, she turned on the threshold, and said:
“Wad ye no like to see her, Ma’colm?—A guid frien’ she was to you, sae lang ’s she was here,” she added after a short pause.
The youth hesitated.
“I never saw a corp i’ my life, mem, an’ I’m jist some feared,” he said, after another brief silence.
“Hoot, laddie!” returned Miss Horn, in a somewhat offended tone. —“That’ll be what comes o’ haein’ feelin’s. A bonny corp ’s the bonniest thing in creation,—an’ that quaiet!—Eh! sic a heap o’ them as there has been sin’ Awbel,” she went on—“an ilk ane o’ them luikin, as gien there never had been anither but itsel’! Ye oucht to see a corp, Ma’colm. Ye’ll hae ’t to du afore ye’re ane yersel’, an’ ye’ll never see a bonnier nor my Grizel.”
“Be ’t to yer wull, mem,” said Malcolm resignedly.