ane o' the auld wives' fables 'at fowk says the holy buik maks sae
licht o'."

"What mean ye?" demanded Miss Horn, sternly and curtly.

"I ken what I mean mysel', an' ane that's no content wi' that,
bude (behaved) ill be a howdie (midwife). I wad fain hae gotten a
fancy oot o' my heid that's been there this mony a lang day; but
please yersel', mem, gien ye winna be neebourly."

"Ye s' no gang near her--no to save ye frae a' the ill dreams
that ever gethered aboot a sin stappit (stuffed) bowster!" cried
Miss Horn, and drew down her long upper lip in a strong arch.

"Ca cannie! ca cannie! (drive gently)," said Bawby. "Dinna anger
me ower sair, for I am but mortal. Fowk tak a heap frae you, Miss
Horn, 'at they'll tak frae nane ither, for your temper's weel kent,
an' little made o'; but it's an ill faured thing to anger the howdie
--sae muckle lies upo' her; an, I'm no i' the tune to put up wi'
muckle the nicht. I wonner at ye bein' sae oonneebourlike--at
sic a time tu, wi' a corp i' the hoose!"

"Gang awa--gan oot o't: it's my hoose," said Miss Horn, in a low,
hoarse voice, restrained from rising to tempest pitch only by the
consciousness of what lay on the other side of the ceiling above
her head. "I wad as sune lat a cat intill the deid chaumer to gang
loupin' ower the corp, or may be waur, as I wad lat yersel' intill
't Bawby Catanach; an' there's till ye!"

At this moment the opportune entrance of Jean afforded fitting