A shadow of indignation passed over Grizzie’s rippled, rather than wrinkled face, but she said nothing. There was a time to speak and a time to be silent; nor was Grizzie indebted to Solomon, but to her own experience and practice, for the wisdom of the saw. Only the pared potatoes splashed louder in the water as they fell. And the old lady knew as well what that meant, as if the splashes had been articulate sounds from the mouth of the old partisan. The boy rose, and coming forward, rather like one walking in his sleep, stood up before his grandmother, and said, “What was ye sayin’, gran’mamma?” “I was sayin’ what ye wadna hearken till, an that’s enouch,” she answered, willing to show offence. “Say ’t again, gran’mamma, if you please. I wasna noticin’.” “Na! I s’ warran’ ye frae noticin’! There ye winna gang, whaur yer ain fule fancy does na lead the w’y. Cosmo, by gie ower muckle tether to wull thoucht, an’ someday ye’ll be laid i’ the dub, followin’ what has naither sense intil ’t, nor this warl’s gude. --What was ye thinkin’ aboot the noo?--Tell me that, an’ I s’ lat ye gang.” “I was thinkin’ aboot the burnie, gran’mamma.” “It wad be tellin’ ye to lat the burnie rin, an’ stick to yer buik, laddie!” “The burnie wull rin, gran’mamma, and the buik ’ill bide,” said Cosmo, perhaps not very clearly understanding himself. “Ye’re gettin’ on to be a man, noo,” said his grandmother, heedless of the word of his defence, “an’ ye maun learn to put awa’ bairnly things. There’s a heap depen’in’ upo’ ye, Cosmo. Ye’ll be the fift o’ the name i’ the family, an’ I’m feart ye may be the last. It’s but sma’ honour, laddie, to ony man to be the last; an’ gien ye dinna gaither the wit ye hae, and du the best ye can, ye winna lang be laird o’ Glenwarlock. Gien it wasna for Grizzie there, wha has no richt to owerhear the affairs o’ the family, I micht think the time had come for enlichtenin’ ye upo’ things it’s no shuitable ye should gang ignorant o’. But we’ll put it aff till a mair convenient sizzon, atween oor ain twa lanes.” “An’ a mair convanient spokesman, I houp, my leddy,” said Grizzie, deeply offended. “An’ wha sud that be?” rejoined her mistress. “Ow, wha but the laird himsel’?” answered Grizzie, “Wha’s to come atween father an’ son wi’ licht upo’ family-affairs? No even the mistress hersel’ wad hae prezhunt upo’ that!” “Keep your own place, Grizzie,” said the old lady with dignity. And Grizzie, who, had gone farther in the cause of propriety, than propriety itself could justify, held her peace. Only the potatoes splashed yet louder in the bowl. Her mistress sat grimly silent, for though she had had the last word and had been obeyed, she was rebuked in herself. Cosmo, judging the specialty of the interview over, turned and went back to his father’s chair; but just as he was seating himself in it, his father appeared in the doorway.