Janet and Annie came up to me to-night. "Hullo!" I cried, "what's become of Ellen and Gladys and Jean?" "We're no speakin' to them," said Annie loftily. "Cheeky things!" said Janet with scorn. I became interested at once. "Rivals in a love affair?" I asked. They sniffed, and ignored the query. "It was Jean," said Annie bitterly. "She went and telt the Mester that Aw spoke when he was oot o' the room." "Aye," said Janet, "she put doon my name tae. Wait er I get her at hame the nicht!" I understood. Macdonald evidently favours the obnoxious practice of setting a bairn to spy on the others ... a silly thing to do. "Aye," went on Annie, "and she called us navvies' lasses!" "And you replied?" "Aw telt her to g'wa hame and darn the hole in her stockin'. 'Aye,' Aw said, 'and ye can wash yer neck at the same time, Jean Broon!'" "But," I said, "Jean never has a dirty neck, Annie." "Weel, what did she say that Aw was a navvy's lass for then?" she demanded indignantly. "I'm afraid that she has seen you speaking to navvies, Annie." Annie became excited. She clutched Janet by the sleeve. "Eh! What an insult!" she cried. "Janet Broon, div Aw speak to navvies?" "Never in a' yer life," said Janet firmly, "never wance ... unless yon day that the twa o' them speered at ye the wye to the huts." "But Aw didna answer," said Annie quickly; "Aw just pointed." "Are you sure?" I asked. "Sure as daith," she declared solemnly, and she cut her breath. "Aw maybe wud ha' spoken," she admitted, "but Aw had a muckle lump o' jaw-stickin' toffee in my mooth, and Aw cudna speak supposin' Aw had wanted to." "Pointing was as bad as speaking," I said. "If it was," said Annie tensely, "Jean never washes her neck. So there!" They departed, and in half-an-hour the enemy came up. They sat in the bothy in silence for a time. "Well," I said cheerily, "what's the news to-night?" "We're fechtin'," said Gladys, "fechtin' wi' Annie and Janet." "What's it all about, eh?" "The Mester gar me write doon the names o' them that was speakin'," blurted out Jean, "and Aw put doon their names." "Yes," chimed in Ellen, "and syne they ca'ed Jean a tramp, and said that the Mester gae her the job o' writin' doon the names cos she was sic a bad writer and needed practice." "Aye," said Gladys, "and they telt me my mither got my pink frock dyed black when my faither deed." "And it wasna her pink frock," cried Ellen; "it was her green ane." "This is alarming," I said with concern. "But tell me, Jean, did you say anything to them?" "Aw never said a word!" "Not one word?" "They cried to us that we was navvies' dochters, and Aw just said: 'Aw wud rather be a navvy's dochter than the dochter o' Annie Miller's faither onywye.'" "They telt Jean to wash her neck," said Gladys. Jean smiled grimly.