Mrs. Elliott!"

"They're no mines, it was the lassie made them," said Kirstie; "and,

saving your presence, there's little sense in taking the Lord's name in

vain about idle vivers that you fill your kyte wi'."

"I daresay you're perfectly right, ma'am," quoth the imperturbable

Frank. "But as I was saying, this is a pitiable business, this about

poor Archie; and you and I might do worse than put our heads together,

like a couple of sensible people, and bring it to an end. Let me tell

you, ma'am, that Archie is really quite a promising young man, and in my

opinion he would do well at the Bar. As for his father, no one can deny

his ability, and I don't fancy any one would care to deny that he has

the deil's own temper - "

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Innes, I think the lass is crying on me," said

Kirstie, and flounced from the room.

"The damned, cross-grained, old broomstick!" ejaculated Innes.

In the meantime, Kirstie had escaped into the kitchen, and before her

vassal gave vent to her feelings.

"Here, ettercap! Ye'll have to wait on yon Innes! I canna haud myself

in. `Puir Erchie!' I'd `puir Erchie' him, if I had my way! And

Hermiston with the deil's ain temper! God, let him take Hermiston's

scones out of his mouth first. There's no a hair on ayther o' the Weirs

that hasna mair spunk and dirdum to it than what he has in his hale

dwaibly body! Settin' up his snash to me! Let him gang to the black

toon where he's mebbe wantit - birling in a curricle - wi' pimatum on

his heid - making a mess o' himsel' wi' nesty hizzies - a fair

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