“The bit boxie” was the coffin of her third cousin Griselda Campbell, whose body lay in the room on her left hand as she called down the stair. Into that on her right Miss Horn now re-entered, to rejoin Mrs Mellis, the wife of the principal draper in the town, who had called ostensibly to condole with her, but really to see the corpse. “Aih! she was taen yoong!” sighed the visitor, with long-drawn tones and a shake of the head, implying that therein lay ground of complaint, at which poor mortals dared but hint. “No that yoong,” returned Miss Horn. “She was upo’ the edge o’ aucht an’ thirty.” “Weel, she had a sair time o’ ’t.” “No that sair, sae far as I see--an’ wha sud ken better? She’s had a bien doon-sittin’ (_sheltered quarters_), and sud hae had as lang ’s I was to the fore. Na, na; it was nowther sae yoong nor yet sae sair.” “Aih! but she was a patient cratur wi’ a’ flesh,” persisted Mrs Mellis, as if she would not willingly be foiled in the attempt to extort for the dead some syllable of acknowledgment from the lips of her late companion. “’Deed she was that!--a wheen ower patient wi’ some. But that cam’ o’ haein mair hert nor brains. _She_ had feelin’s gien ye like-- and to spare. But I never took ower ony o’ the stock. It’s a pity she hadna the jeedgment to match, for she never misdoobted onybody eneuch. But I wat it disna maitter noo, for she’s gane whaur it’s less wantit. For ane ’at has the hairmlessness o’ the doo ’n this ill-wulled warl’, there’s a feck[1] o’ them ’at has the wisdom o’ the serpent. An’ the serpents mak sair wark wi’ the doos--lat alane them ’at flees into the verra mouws o’ them.” [1] _large amount_. “Weel, ye’re jist richt there,” said Mrs Mellis. “An’ as ye say, she was aye some easy to perswaud. I hae nae doobt she believed to the ver’ last he wad come back and mairry her.” “Come back and mairry her! Wha or what div ye mean? I jist tell ye Mistress Mellis--an’ it’s weel ye’re named--gien ye daur to hint at ae word o’ sic clavers, it’s this side o’ this door o’ mine ye s’ be less acquant wi’.” As she spoke, the hawk-eyes of Miss Horn glowed on each side of her hawk nose, which grew more and more hooked as she glared, while her neck went craning forward as if she were on the point of making a swoop on the offender. Mrs Mellis’s voice trembled with something like fear as she replied: “Gude guide ’s, Miss Horn! What hae I said to gar ye look at me sae by ordinar ’s that?” “Said!” repeated Miss Horn, in a tone that revealed both annoyance with herself and contempt for her visitor. “There’s no a claver in a’ the countryside but ye maun fess ’t hame aneth yer oxter, as gin ’t were the prodigal afore he repentit. Ye s’ get sma thanks for sic like here. An’ her lyin’ there as she’ll lie till the jeedgment-day, puir thing!” “I’m sure I meant no offence, Miss Horn,” said her visitor. “I thocht a’ body kent ’at she was ill aboot him.” “Aboot wha, i’ the name o’ the father o’ lees?”