He came up to Annie, and addressed her in the smoothest voice he could find, fumbling at the same time in his coat-pocket. "Hoo are ye the nicht dawtie? Are ye verra weel? An' hoo's yer auntie?" He waited for no reply to any of these questions, but went on. "See what I hae brocht ye frae the chop." So saying, he put into her hand about half-a-dozen _sweeties_, screwed up in a bit of paper. With this gift he left her, and walked on to the open door of the house, which, as a cousin, he considered himself privileged to enter unannounced even by a knock. He found the mistress of it in the kitchen, superintending the cooking of the supper. "Hoo are ye the nicht, Marget?" he said, still in a tone of conciliatory smoothness, through which, however, he could not prevent a certain hardness from cropping out plentifully. "Ye're busy as usual, I see. Weel, the hand o' the diligent maketh rich, ye ken." "That portion o' the Word maun be o' leemited application, I doot," returned Marget, as, withdrawing her hand from her cousin's, she turned again to the pot hanging over the fire. "No man daurs to say that my han' has not been the han' o' the diligent; but Guid kens I'm nane the richer." "We maunna repine, Marget. Richt or wrang, it's the Lord's will." "It's easy to you, Robert Bruce, wi' yer siller i' the bank, to speik that gait til a puir lone body like me, that maun slave for my bread whan I'm no sae young as I micht be. No that I'm like to dee o' auld age either." "I haena sae muckle i' the bank as some folk may think; though what there is is safe eneuch. But I hae a bonny business doun yonner, and it micht be better yet. It's jist the land o' Goshen, only it wants a wheen mair tap-dressin'." "Tak it frae the bank, than, Robert." "The bank! said ye, Marget? I canna do that." "And what for no?" "'Cause I'm jist like the hens, Marget. Gin they dinna see ae egg i' the nest, they hae no hert to lay anither. I daurna meddle wi' the bank." "Weel, lat sit than; an' lay awa' at yer leisur'. Hoo's the mistress?" "No that weel, and no that ill. The faimily's rather sair upo' her. But I canna haud her oot o' the chop for a' that. She's like mysel'--she wad aye be turnin' a bawbee. But what are ye gaein to do yersel', Marget?" "I'm gaein to my uncle and aunt--auld John Peterson and his wife. They're gey and frail noo, and they want somebody to luik efter them." "Than ye're weel provided for; Praise be thankit! Marget." "Ow, ay; nae doot," replied Marget, with bitterness, of which Bruce took no notice. "And what's to come o' the bairnie?" pursued he. "I maun jist get some dacent auld body i' the toon to tak' her in, and lat her gang to the schuil. It's time. The auld fowk wadna pit up wi' her a week." "And what'll that cost ye, Marget?" "I dinna ken. But the lassie's able to pay for her ain upbringin'." "It's no far 'at a hunner and fifty'll gang i' thae times, woman. An' it's a pity to tak frae the prencipal. She'll be merryin' some day."