“I do what I can, Miss Menie,” said Nelly, shaking her head mournfully. “I tell her a lad’s just as safe in the toun as in the country, and that it’s a real unbelieving-like thing to be aye groaning even on about Johnnie, and her has mair bairns. But someway she gets nae satisfaction, and I think she would be mair pleased if you could get a line from Mr Randall saying when he saw him, and whether he’s doing well or no, than a’ the reason I could gie her if I was preaching frae this to Martinmas. I came away from my wark anes errant to bid ye. Will you ask Mr Randall about Johnnie, Miss Menie, that I may get some peace wi’ my mother?” The breath comes quickly over Menie Laurie’s lip--a little flutter of added colour--a momentary falling of the eyelids--a shy, conscious smile hovering about the mouth--and then Menie nods her head assentingly and says, “Yes, Nelly, I will.” “Yes, Nelly, I will,” repeated Menie, after a little pause of blushing self-communion. “Tell her I’ll come and let her hear as soon as there is any news; and say I think she should be cheery, Nelly, now she has you at home.” Making a meek inclination of her person, neither a bow nor a curtsy, but something half-way between them, in answer to this speech, Nelly goes away; and almost encountering her on her outward passage over the threshold, enters Jenny fuffing at a furious rate, and casting her head up into the air with wrathful contempt, like some little shaggy Highland pony whose pride has been wounded. For Jenny’s wrath has nothing of the dignity conferred by superior stature or commanding person, and it is hard to restrain a smile at the vigour of her “fuff.” “Twenty years auld, and nae mair sense than that!--the lassie’s daft! I would like to ken how it’s possible for mortal woman to be cheery with Nelly Panton within half a mile o’ her! If they flit to the Brigend at the next term, as they’re aye threatening, I’ll gie the mistress her leave mysel.” “I think I’ll run away if you’re aye so crabbed, Jenny,” said her young mistress. “What has everybody done?” “Everybody’s done just a’ the mischief they could do,” said Jenny, pathetically: “there’s no an article ever happens in this house that mightna be mended if some ither body had the guiding o’t. There’s a’ the gangrels o’ the countryside coming and gaun with their stories--there’s the mistress hersel, that might have mair sense, ta’en a cauld in her head, and a hoast fit to waken a’ the toun, standing at the door hearing Bessy Edgar’s clavers about a no-weel wean--and there’s yoursel the warst of a’. Do you think if onybody had ever askit me, that _I_ would have gien my consent to let a lassie o’ your years plight her troth to a wandering lad away to seek his fortune, like Randall Home? But you’ll never ken the guid friend you’ve lost in Jenny till the puir body’s out o’ the gate, and in her grave; and I wouldna say how soon that might be if there’s nae end o’ on-gauns like thir.”