"What are you dreaming about, Cossie?" she said again, in a tone
wavering but imperative.

Her speech was that of a gentlewoman of the old time, when the
highest born in Scotland spoke Scotch.

Not yet did Cosmo reply. Reverie does not agree well with manners,
but it would besides have been hard for him to answer the old
lady's question--not that he did not know something at least of
what was going on in his mind, but that, he knew instinctively, it
would have sounded in her ears no hair better than the jabber of
Jule Sandy.

"Mph!" she said, offended at his silence; "Ye'll hae to learn
manners afore ye're laird o' Glenwarlock, young Cosmo!"

A shadow of indignation passed over Grizzie's rippled, rather than
wrinkled face, but she said nothing. There was a time to speak and
a time to be silent; nor was Grizzie indebted to Solomon, but to
her own experience and practice, for the wisdom of the saw. Only
the pared potatoes splashed louder in the water as they fell. And
the old lady knew as well what that meant, as if the splashes had
been articulate sounds from the mouth of the old partisan.

The boy rose, and coming forward, rather like one walking in his
sleep, stood up before his grandmother, and said,

"What was ye sayin', gran'mamma?"