'Belike mem!--belike--Folk's a' gude till they're fand out. Wha kens whaur ony o' us wad stand, gin a' was kenned? But ye see mem, it's like a' to be fand out concernin' his misdoin's, an' it's but a cracket pig, or a broken cistern his repitation's like to pruive whan a's kenned.' 'Woman!--What do ye mean?' 'Wummin yersel' mem! I ken I'm a wummin, an' sae are ye! But I'm a decent man's wife, an' his name's Stephen Boague. Sae dinna misca' me. I'm no beggin'.' 'But what can you mean? No calumny surely could touch the character of Mr. Brown!' 'I ken naething o' calumny, an' I never lee. But gin ye like to hear as was telled to me ye're walcome. Ye'll ken auld Tibbie Tirpie 'at bides down by Glen Effick, an' belike ye'll mind her lassie; young Tib, folk ca's her, a pridefu' scart 'at shoos whiles at the castle, an' cocks her neb ower ither folic, wi' her veil an' her parrysol an' the gumflowers in her mutch, like's decent folk was na gude eneugh for her! Aweel mem, an' wae I am to say the like o' ony puir lass, but she's gane wrang, an' wha but the minister to blame for't.' 'Nonsense! Mrs. Boague, I don't believe a word of it!' 'Juist what I said mysel', mem. But bide a wee, till ye hear the pruifs. Ye see, mem, the lass gaed awa, naebody kenned whaur, an' fient a word spak her mither about it. An' lang she stayed, till ae dark nicht, yon terrible nicht, ye'll mind it? Hame she comes e'y coach, a' happit up, an' hidin' like, an' greetin' sair, an' out she slinks at her mither's door, an' nane wad hae kenned ocht about it but for Mistress Briggs my leddy's woman, down by. An' that same nicht, aff gaes the minister, in a' yon wind an' ren. It was lang after decent folk was in their beds, an' naebody was steerin' to see him gang. An' next day he brings hame a bairn, an' gies't til his sister to tak tent on--the puir young leddy! To mak a fule o' her that gate, wi' a merry-begotten wein! That caps a', says I, whan I heard it. An' syne naething maun do but baptis't, an' mak a fule o' the Kirk's solemn ordinance. An' there was Tib, I saw her wi' my ain e'en, keekin ower the folk's heads, like's she thocht shame to be at the preachin' ava, an sae weel she micht. An whan it cam to bringin' out the bairns, awa she slinks hame, wi the niepkin stappit in her mouth to keep in the greet. I saw't a' mysel', mem, an what mair pruif wad a body hae? Folk dinna do their deeds o' darkness in day licht an' a' body lookin' on, sae it's juist by pettin' that an' that thegither, ye can houp to find them out. But there's mair yet. O' Sawbith nicht whan a' was dark, wha suld be seen comin' out o' Tibbie s door but the minister? An' wha gangs down to Peter Malloch's shop o' Monday mornin' but Tibbie? an' she had siller wi'her, a pund note an' nae less. A note o' the Bank o' Peterhead, 'at naebody round here ever has but Mester Brown, an' his siller a' comes frae there. Noo, what say ye til a' that? Mistress Sangster. The wicked man diz his deeds e'y dark but the