Part 5 (1/2)
”Ay, will I--ay, will I; I'm aye seeking knoewledge.”
”Well, it is soon told. One of us sat twenty years on one seat, in the same house, so one day he got up a--viscount.”
”Ower muckle pay for ower little wark.”
”Now don't say that; I wouldn't do it to be Emperor of Russia.”
”Aweel, I hae gotten a heap out o' ye; sae noow I'll gang, since ye are no for herrin'; come away, Jean.”
At this their host remonstrated, and inquired why bores are at one's service night and day, and bright people are always in a hurry; he was informed in reply, ”Labor is the lot o' man. Div ye no ken that muckle?
And abune a' o' women.”*
* A local idea, I suspect.--C. R.
”Why, what can two such pretty creatures have to do except to be admired?”
This question coming within the dark beauty's scope, she hastened to reply.
”To sell our herrin'--we hae three hundre' left in the creel.”
”What is the price?”
At this question the poetry died out of Christie Johnstone's face, she gave her companion a rapid look, indiscernible by male eye, and answered:
”Three a penny, sirr; they are no plenty the day,” added she, in smooth tones that carried conviction.
(Little liar; they were selling six a penny everywhere.)
”Saunders, buy them all, and be ever so long about it; count them, or some nonsense.”
”He's daft! he's daft! Oh, ye ken, Jean, an Ennglishman and a lorrd, twa daft things thegither, he could na' miss the road. c.o.o.nt them, la.s.sie.”
”Come away, Sandy, till I count them till ye,” said Jean.
Saunders and Jean disappeared.
Business being out of sight, curiosity revived.
”An' what brings ye here from London, if ye please?” recommenced the fair inquisitor.
”You have a good countenance; there is something in your face. I could find it in my heart to tell you, but I should bore you.”
”De'el a fear! Bore me, bore me! wheat's thaat, I wonder?”
”What is your name, madam? Mine is Ipsden.”
”They ca' me Christie Johnstone.”
”Well, Christie Johnstone, I am under the doctor's hands.”
”Puir lad. What's the trouble?” (solemnly and tenderly.)