'Wat,' said Liz Hepburn to her brother next time he came home, 'what
kind o' a lassie is thon?'

It was a question difficult for Walter to answer, and, Scotch-like, he
solved it by putting another.

'What do you think of her?'

'I dinna ken; she's no' like ither folk.'

'But you liked her, Liz?' said Walter, with quite evident anxiety.

'Oh ay; but she's queer. How does she get on wi' Skinny?'

'Well enough. I believe he likes her, Liz, if he would let on.'

Liz made a grimace.

'I daursay, if he can like onything. I telt her my mind on the business
plain, an' offered to get her into our mill.'

'Oh, Liz, you might have had more sense! Her work in a mill!' cried
Walter, with more energy than elegance.

'An' what for no'?' queried Liz sharply. 'I suppose she's the same flesh
and bluid as me.'

'Shut up, you twa,' said a querulous, peevish voice from the ingle-neuk,