'Awa, ye leein' haveril! Do you tak me for a fule, to think ye're to blaw the stour i' my e'en that gate? Lay by, now! (Joseph had become demonstrative again), or I'll gie ye a gouff i' the lug'll gar't stound the next half-hour! An' I canna be claverin' here a' day. Awa wi' ye!' and she caught up her basket. 'What ails ye, lass? Winna ye bide a wee? It's no often a body gets ye yer lane for a crack. Bide a wee!' 'I canna bide, man, ey noo! Gin the mistress comes ben an' dizna find the pat on the fire; I'se get my kale through the reek, I'se warrant ye!' 'Here, than, Jean! Here's a letter frae the minister to Miss Sophia. An' ye maun gie't to naebody but her ain-sel'. I'se be hingin' round here-awa, an' ye maun fesh back the answer belive. Winna ye, noo, lass?' 'We'll see,' said Jean moving off; 'she was bakin' pies whan I gaed out, gin she hae na gaen butt the house, I'se gie her't. Ye'll be here whan I come out? For I'll no can bide lang.' And folding the letter in her apron she hastened into the house. Sophia was still in the kitchen, giving the last ornamental touches to her pies, when the letter was brought her. 'From Glen Effick, eh? A note from Mary Brown I suppose. And an answer is wanted? very well.' She slipped it into her pocket, and retired to her room to read it at her leisure. No one could have been more surprised than was Sophia at the contents of that letter, and the earnestness and solemnity with which they were expressed. She had never received a love-letter in her life, and had some indistinct idea from what her mother had occasionally said, that the subject was scarcely a proper one in real life. It was something that was to be read about in books, especially in poetry books and tales, but of these she had not read many. Her mother considered them relaxing to the mind, except when they were of a theological cast, and refrained from such frivolities as love scenes; the biographies of serious people, in fact, had been the staple of her reading.