"
"But there's been sic a heap o' things f'un' oot sin' syne, i' the
min' o' man, as weel 's i' the warl' ootside," said Andrew, "that
sic a language wad be mair like a bairn's tongue nor a mither's, I'm
thinkin', whan set against a' 'at wad be to speyk aboot!"
"Ye're verra richt there, I dinna doobt. But hoo easy wad it be for
ilk ane to bring in the new word he wantit, haein' eneuch common
afore to explain 't wi'! Afore lang the language wad hae intil 't
ilka word 'at was worth haein' in ony language 'at ever was spoken
sin' the toor o' Babel."
"Eh, sirs, but it's dreidfu' to think o' haein' to learn sae
muckle!" said the old woman. "I'm ower auld an' dottlet!"
Her husband laughed again.
"I dinna see what ye hae to lauch at!" she said, laughing too.
"Ye'll be dottlet yersel' gien ye live lang eneuch!"
"I'm thinkin'," said Andrew, "but I dinna ken--'at it maun be a
man's ain wyte gien age maks him dottlet. Gien he's aye been
haudin' by the trowth, I dinna think he'll fin' the trowth, hasna
hauden by him.--But what I was lauchin' at was the thoucht o'
onybody bein' auld up there. We'll a' be yoong there, lass!"
"It sall be as the Lord wulls," returned his wife.
"It sall. We want nae mair; an' eh, we want nae less!" responded
her husband.
So the evening wore away. The talk was to the very mind of Donal,
who never loved wisdom so much as when she appeared in peasant-garb.
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