I'm o' his min' whether I ken his min' or no.--Eh, my
lassie! my lassie! I could better win ower a hantle nor her giein'
you the slip that gait, sir. It was sae dooble o' her! It's
naething wrang in itsel' 'at a yoong lass sud be taen wi' the
attentions o' a bonny lad like lord Forgue! That's na agen the
natur 'at God made! But to preten' an' tak in!--to be cunnin' an'
sly! that's evil. An' syne for the ither lad--eh, I doobt that's
warst o' 'a! Only I kenna hoo far she had committit hersel' wi'
him, for she was never open-hertit. Eh, sir! it's a fine thing to
hae nae sacrets but sic as lie 'atween yersel' an' yer macker! I
can but pray the Father o' a' to haud his e'e upon her, an' his
airms aboot her, an' keep aff the hardenin' o' the hert 'at despises
coonsel! I'm sair doobtin' we canna do muckle mair for her! She
maun tak her ain gait, for we canna put a collar roon' her neck, an'
lead her aboot whaurever we gang. She maun win her ain breid; an'
gien she didna that, she wad be but the mair ta'en up wi' sic
nonsense as the likes o' lord Forgue 's aye ready to say til ony
bonny lass. An' I varily believe she's safer there wi' you an' the
hoosekeeper nor whaur he could win at her easier, an' whaur they wud
be readier to tak her character fra her upo' less offence, an' sen'
her aboot her business. Fowk 's unco' jealous about their hoose 'at
wad trouble themsel's little aboot a lass! Sae lang as it's no upo'
their premises, she may do as she likes for them! Doory an' me,
we'll jist lay oor cares i' the fine sicht an' 'afore the
compassionate hert o' the Maister, an' see what he can do for 's!
Sic things aiven we can lea' to him! I houp there'll be nae mair
bludeshed! He's a fine lad, Steenie Kennedy--come o' a fine stock!
His father was a God-fearin' man--some dour by natur, but wi' an
unco clearin' up throuw grace.
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