‘For the life o’ me, Kirsty, I dinna ken what ye’re drivin at, or what ye wud hae o’ me! I canna but think ye’re usin me as ye wudna like to be used yersel!’ ‘’Deed I wud not like it gien I was o’ your breed, Francie! Man, did ye never ance i’ yer life think what ye _hed_ to du--what was gien ye to du--what it was yer duty to du?’ ‘No sae aften, doobtless, as I oucht. But I’m ready to hear ye tell me my duty; I’m no past reasonin wi’!’ ‘Did ye never hear ’at ye’re to lo’e yer neebour as yersel?’ ‘I’m duin that wi’ a’ my hert, Kirsty--and that ye ken as weel as I du mysel!’ ‘Ye mean me, Francie! And ye ca’ that lo’in me, to wull me merry a man ’at’s no a man ava! But it’s nae me ’at’s yer neebour, Francie!’ ‘Wha _is_ my neebour, Kirsty?’ ‘The queston’s been speirt afore--and answert.’ ‘And what’s the answer til’t?’ ‘’At yer neebour’s jist whaever lies neist ye i’ need o’ yer help. Gien ye read the tale o’ the guid Sameritan wi’ ony sort o’ gumption, that’s what ye’ll read intil ’t and noucht else. The man or wuman ye can help, ye hae to be neebour til.’ ‘I want to help you.’ ‘Ye canna help me. I’m in no need o’ yer help. And the queston’s no whar’s the man I _micht_ help, but whaur’s the man I _maun_ help. I wantit to be _your_ neebour, but I cudna win at ye for the thieves; ye _wad_ stick to them, and they wudna lat me du naething.’ ‘What thieves, i’ the name o’ common sense, Kirsty?’ ‘Love o’ yer ain gait, and love o’ makin a show, and want o’ care for what’s richt. Aih, Francie, I doobt something a heap waur ’ll hae to come upo’ ye! A’ my labour’s lost, and I dearly grudge it--no the labour, but the loss o’ ’t! I grudge that sair.’ ‘Kirsty, i’ the name o’ God, wha _is_ my neebour?’ ‘Yer ain mither.’ ‘My ain mither!--_her_ oot o’ a’ the warl’?--I never cam upo’ spark o’ rizzon intil her!’ ‘Michtna she be that ane oot o’ a’ the warl’, ye never shawed spark o’ rizzon til?’ ‘There’s nae place in her for reason to gang til!’ ‘Ye never tried her wi’ ’t! Ye wud arguy wi’ her mair nor plenty, but did ye ever shaw her rizzon i’ yer behaviour?’ ‘Weel ye _are_ turnin agen me--you ’at’s saved my life frae her! Didna I tell you hoo, whan I wan hame at last and gaed til her, for she was aye guid to me when I wasna weel, she fell oot upo’ me like a verra deevil, ragin and ca’in me ill names, ’at I jist ran frae the hoose--and ye ken whaur ye faun’ me! Gien it hadna been for you, I wud hae been deid: I was waur nor deid a’ready! What w’y _can_ I be neebour to _her_! It wud be naething but cat and dog atween’s frae mornin to nicht!’ ‘Ae body canna be cat and dog baith! And the dog’s as ill’s the cat--whiles waur!’ ‘Ony dog wud yowl gien ye threw a kettle o’ bilin watter ower him!’ ‘Did she that til ye?’ ‘She mintit at it. I ran frae her. She hed the toddy-kettle in her han’, and she splasht it in her ain face tryin to fling’t at me.’ ‘Maybe she didna ken ye!’