'Whisht woman! yer tongue's rinnin' awa wi' ye. Gin yell juist ca' canny, an' do biddin', ye'se do far mair for Tibbie nor I cud. Ye see, Luckie, I'm juist as ane micht say, naething but a puir earthen vessel, no gude for muckle, wi' nae gear, an' sma' wut to gather't wi'. What wad ye say noo til a gentleman for Tib? It's what the lassie ocht to hae gotten wi' her bonnie face, an' gin what a' the folk says was true, belike she'd get ane.' 'I kenna what ye're drivin' at, my man, but gin ye're gaun to send me on a fule's errand, an' sae gar me let ye aff, ye're sair mistaen; an' gin ye come na in whiles as ye gang by an' gie the lass her dues o' coortin', fair out afore folk, I'se gang down til auld MacSiccar, an' he'll hae ye up afore the Shirra, or I'm mistaen, an' syne yell ken whether a law plea or a waddin' taks maist siller, an' aiblins ye'll hae to wive wi' her a' the same.' 'But hoo wid ye like the minister e'y stead o' the bederal? wadna that be something worth while? The folk thinks that's the richts o't a' e'y noo. An' gin ye'll juist haud them on their ain gate, an' keep yer ain jaws steekit--wha kens? A minister wad wed wi' the Deil's ain--dochter afore he'd hae himsel' or the Kirk misca'd. The folk says yon's Tibbie's bairn he taks tent on, doon by, an' what for need ye fash to deny't? gin the wein cam out o' the sea he'll can bring nae pruif, an' the folk hae taen't i' their heids to think the ither thing, sae gin ye wad juist threip the same gate aiblins ye'd get yer way o't.' 'The Lord forgie ye, Joseph Smiley, for a blackhearted, twa-faced vagabond! Ye ken weel what a gude maister the minister's been to you, an' ye wad turn round an' gar me lee awa his gude name! But tak ye tent! There was ance anither, gaed to betray a gude master, for the sake o' what he'd mak out o't, an' he gaed an' hanged himsel' afore a' was done--Wha kens? The hemp may be baith sawn an' pued 'at's to mak yer ain grawvit! An' noo I gie ye fair warnin', gin ye come-na by afore Wednesday, I'se gang til auld MacSiccar; sae nae mair o' yer parryin'.' And with a portentous shake of the head she departed. Joseph was little discomposed; he could hardly expect so startling a proposal to be received otherwise than with indignation, and yet, as by an off chance, it might bear fruit after all. The evil seed just scattered wanted time to germinate, some corner of her mind might yet prove to be a congenial soil, and it might spring up yet in a crop of lies to serve his turn.