“He’s a shabby body the laird o’ Monkbarns,” said Mrs. Heukbane; “he’ll make as muckle about buying a forequarter o’ lamb in August as about a back sey o’ beef. Let’s taste another drop of the sinning” (perhaps she meant cinnamon) “waters, Mrs. Mailsetter, my dear. Ah, lasses! an ye had kend his brother as I did—mony a time he wad slip in to see me wi’ a brace o’ wild deukes in his pouch, when my first gudeman was awa at the Falkirk tryst—weel, weel—we’se no speak o’ that e’enow.”
“I winna say ony ill o’this Monkbarns,” said Mrs. Shortcake; “his brother neer brought me ony wild-deukes, and this is a douce honest man; we serve the family wi’ bread, and he settles wi’ huz ilka week—only he was in an unco kippage when we sent him a book instead o’ the nick-sticks,* whilk, he said, were the t
