But Jenny explained his presence there volubly. ‘It’s Johnnie, cuzin Peggy,’ she said, with a wave of the hand to the unanswerable proposition and unnecessary introduction. ‘He has been a’ the way to the Knockruddery planting for pea-sticks, and has carriet them hame, the gomerel, on his back instead of ordering a cart from the offices, though Balcairnie could not ha’e said strae to that. Johnnie, puir chap, is clean forfochten, as ye may see, with the long walk and the load; sae, as he would ha’e needed to gang round by the Cotton to slocken his drouth, I ha’e just brocht him in here to eat his fower hours, but ceremony wi’ you and me. I ha’e telled Cunnings in the by-going, and gin you’ll send her the keys, she’ll bring in the Hollands and yale wi’ the dishes o’ tea, which are no for a man’s refreshment. Sit ye doon, Johnnie, my man; dinna be blate, rest ye, and mak yoursel’ at hame in the muckle chair in your ain cuzin’s hoose.’ He was her own cousin, once or twice removed, and Peggy would willingly have given him of her best for his rest and refreshment; but Johnny Fuggie in Drumsheugh’s absence in the laird’s chair at his table, was what she could not authorise, whether or not she had strength of mind to forbid it. She stood up, trembling from head to foot, growing very pale, and gasping for breath. Johnnie took pity upon her. The girl’s tremor still farther abashed instead of emboldening him. It reached even through his coarse and thick skin. ‘Na, Jenny, ye’re wrang, lass, this time,’ he mumbled. ‘This is no’ the place for me. I couldna be comfortable, ony mair than ither folk could be. Gude e’en to you, young Mistress Ramsay, mem, I give you a’ your titles wi’ a’ my heart. I’ll gang my ways and you’ll forgie this mischanter. It is a’ the wyte o’ this sorry Jenny. She means weel, but her frien’liness runs awa’ wi’ her at times.’ ‘You’ll no gang out o’ this house without tasting for the house’s ain credit, Johnnie Fuggie; no’ sae lang as I’m to the fore and under its roof, though I suld ha’e to set up a bottle and a kebbock wi’ a fardel o’ cakes on my ain account, as I have never needed to do yet,’ protested Jenny clamorously. ‘Na, I’ll tell you what,’ with the ready adaptation of her scheme to circumstances which is the gift of first-rate conspirators, and is for that matter an attribute of genius, ‘we’ll sally but to Cunnings’s room, if the dining-room flegs you, and I’m sure Peggy will not refuse to grace us wi’ her presence.’ Poor Peggy caught at the compromise, overlooking the sneer scarcely hidden under Jenny’s accommodating suggestion. She would cheerfully bear her relations company in the housekeeper’s room for half-an-hour, if that would keep them out of Drumsheugh’s dining-room or the Lady’s drawing-room.