"Well, it is soon told. One of us sat twenty years on one seat, in the
same house, so one day he got up a--viscount."

"Ower muckle pay for ower little wark."

"Now don't say that; I wouldn't do it to be Emperor of Russia."

"Aweel, I hae gotten a heap out o' ye; sae noow I'll gang, since ye are
no for herrin'; come away, Jean."

At this their host remonstrated, and inquired why bores are at one's
service night and day, and bright people are always in a hurry; he was
informed in reply, "Labor is the lot o' man. Div ye no ken that muckle?
And abune a' o' women."*

* A local idea, I suspect.--C. R.

"Why, what can two such pretty creatures have to do except to be
admired?"

This question coming within the dark beauty's scope, she hastened to
reply.

"To sell our herrin'--we hae three hundre' left in the creel."

"What is the price?"

At this question the poetry died out of Christie Johnstone's face, she
gave her companion a rapid look, indiscernible by male eye, and answered: