“Me kind to them! My patience! But it’s because ye dinna ken ony better,” said Jenny, with a little snort. “I just wish, for my part, folk would haud by what concerns themsels, and let me abee. I would like to ken what’s a’ the world’s business if Jenny has a good mistress, and nae need to seek anither service frae ae year’s end to the ither—and it canna advantage the like o’ you grudging at Jenny’s fee. It’s gey dark, and the road’s lanesome; if I was you, I would think o’ gaun hame.” “I wouldna be sae crabbit if I got a pension for’t,” returned Marget, sharply; “and ye needna think to gar folk believe lees; it’s weel kent your house is awfu’ come down. ‘Pride gangs before a fa’,’ the Scripture says. Ye’ll no ca’ that a lee; and I hear that Miss Menie’s joe just heard it, and broke off in time.” “I’m like to be driven daft wi’ ane and anither,” exclaimed Jenny furiously. “If Miss Menie hadna been a thrawart creature hersel, I wouldna have had to listen to the like o’ this. Na, that micht ha’e been a reason—but it was nane of the siller; she kens best hersel what it was. I’m sure I wouldna have cast away a bonnie lad like yon if it had been me; but the like of her, a young lady, behooves to ha’e her ain way.” “Weel, it’s aye best to put a guid face on’t,” said Jenny’s tormentor. “I’m no saying onything at my ain hand; it’s a’ Nelly’s story, and Johnnie being to marry July Home—it’s a grand marriage for auld Crofthill’s daughter, such a bit wee useless thing—we’re the likest to ken. Ye needna take it ill, Jenny. I’m meaning nae reproach to you.” “I’m no canny when I’m angered,” said Jenny, setting down her pail in the road; “ye’ll gang your ways hame, if you take my counsel; there’s naething for you here. Pity me for Kirklands parish, grit and sma’! with Nelly at the Brokenrig, and you at the Brigend; but I canna thole a lee—it makes my heart sick; and I tell ye I’m no canny when I’m angered. Guid nicht to you, Marget Panton; when I want to see you I’ll send you word. You can wait here, if you maun get yon puir decent woman hame wi’ you. I reckon I would get mony thanks if I set her free; but I dinna meddle wi’ ither folks’ business; you can wait for her here.” And, taking up her pail again rapidly, Jenny pattered away, leaving Marget somewhat astonished, standing in the middle of the road, where this energetic speech had been addressed to her. With many mutterings Jenny pursued her wrathful way. “Ye’ve your ainsel to thank, no anither creature, Menie Laurie; and now this painting business is begun, they’ll be waur and waur. Whatfor could she no have keepit in wi’ him? A bonnie ane, to ha’e a’ her ain way, and slaving and working a’ day on her feet, as if Jenny wasna worth the bread she eats; and the next thing I’ll hear is sure to be that she’s painting for siller. Pity me!”