wits upon.

The particular cuif so addressed by Meg came slowly over the
knoll.

"Guid e'en to ye," he said, with his best visiting manners.

"Can ye no see me as weel, Saunders?" said Jess, archly, for all
was grist that came to her mill.

Saunders rose like a trout to the fly.

"Ow aye, Jess, lass, I saw ye brawly, but it disna do to come
seekin' twa lasses at ae time."'

"Dinna ye be thinkin' to put awa' Meg, an' then come coortin' me!"
said Jess, sharply.

Saunders was hurt for the moment at this pointed allusion both to
his profession and also to his condition as a "seekin'" widower.

"Wha seeks you, Jess, 'ill be sair ill-aff!" he replied very
briskly for a cuif.

The sound of Meg's voice in round altercation with Jock Gordon,
the privileged "natural" or innocent fool of the parish,
interrupted this interchange of amenities, which was indeed as
friendly and as much looked for between lads and lasses as the
ordinary greeting of "Weel, hoo's a' wi' ye the nicht?" which
began every conversation between responsible folks.