'Fine we can guess who it is about,' my sister would say pointedly.

'Maybe you can guess, but it is beyond me,' says my mother, with
the meekness of one who knows that she is a dull person.

My sister scorned her at such times. 'What woman is in all his
books?' she would demand.

'I'm sure I canna say,' replies my mother determinedly. 'I thought
the women were different every time.'

'Mother, I wonder you can be so audacious! Fine you know what
woman I mean.'

'How can I know? What woman is it? You should bear in mind that I
hinna your cleverness' (they were constantly giving each other
little knocks).

'I won't give you the satisfaction of saying her name. But this I
will say, it is high time he was keeping her out of his books.'

And then as usual my mother would give herself away unconsciously.
'That is what I tell him,' she says chuckling, 'and he tries to
keep me out, but he canna; it's more than he can do!'

On an evening after my mother had gone to bed, the first chapter
would be brought upstairs, and I read, sitting at the foot of the
bed, while my sister watched to make my mother behave herself, and
my father cried H'sh! when there were interruptions. All would go