Th' ither lasses Lisbeth's haen had a michty trouble wi' them. When they
war i' the middle o' their reddin' up the bairns wid come tum'lin' aboot
the floor, but, sal, I assure ye, Bell didna fash lang wi' them. Did
she, Sam'l?"
"She did not," said Sam'l, dropping into a fine mode of speech to add
emphasis to his remark.
"I'll tell ye what she did," said Pete to the others. "She juist lifted
up the litlins, twa at a time, an' flung them into the coffin-beds. Syne
she snibbit the doors on them, an' keepit them there till the floor was
dry."
"Ay, man, did she so?" said Davit, admiringly.
"I've seen her do 't mysel'," said Sam'l.
"There's no a lassie mak's better bannocks this side o' Fetter Lums,"
continued Pete.
"Her mither tocht her that," said Sam'l; "she was a gran' han' at the
bakin', Kitty Ogilvy."
"I've heard say," remarked Jamie, putting it this way so as not to tie
himself down to anything, "'at Bell's scones is equal to Mag Lunan's."
"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely.
"I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete.
"An' wi' 't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in her
Sabbath claes.
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