“I’m thinkin’ whan he begud to ken himsel’ growin’ auld, his deed cam back upon ’im fresh-like, an’ that wad be hoo he cudna bide to hae my lady oot o’ the sicht o’ his een, or at least ayont the cry o’ his tongue. Troth! he wad whiles come aboot the place efter her, whaur I wad be at my wark, as it micht be the day, cursin’ an’ sweirin’ as gien he had sellt his sowl to a’ the deevils thegither, an’ sae micht tak his wull o’ onything he cud get his tongue roon’! But I never heedit him that muckle, for ye see it wasna him ’at peyt me--the mair by token ’at gien it had been him ’at had the peyin’ o’ me, it’s never a baubee wad I hae seen o’ my ain siller; but the trustees peyt me, ilka plack, an’ sae I was indepen’ent like, an’ luit him say his say. But it was aye an oonsaitisfactory kin’ o’ a thing, for the trustees they caredna a bodle aboot keepin’ the place dacent, an’ tuik sae sma’ delicht in ony pleesurin’ o’ the auld lord, ’at they jist allooed him me, an’ no a man mair nor less--to the gairden, that is. That’s hoo the place comes to be in sic a disgracefu’ condeetion. Gien it hadna been for rizzons o’ my ain, I wad hae gane, mony’s the time, for the sicht o’ the ruin o’ things was beyon’ beirin’. But I bude to beir ’t; sae I bore ’t an’ bore ’t till I cam by beirin’ o’ ’t to tak it verra quaiet, an’ luik upo’ the thing as the wull o’ a Providence ’at sudna be meddlet wi’. I broucht mysel’ in fac’ to that degree o’ submission, ’at I gae mysel’ no trouble more, but jist confint my ainergies to the raisin’ o’ the kail an’ cabbage, the ingons an’ pitawtas wantit aboot the place.” “And are things no better,” asked Cosmo, “since the present lord succeeded?” “No a hair--’cep’ it be ’at there’s no sae mony ill words fleein’ aboot the place. My lord never sets his nose intil the gairden, or speirs--no ance in a twal-month, hoo’s things gangin’ on. He does naething but rowt aboot in ’s boaratory as he ca’s ’t--bore-a-whig, or bore-a-tory, it’s little to me--makin’ stinks there fit to scomfish a whaul, an’ gar ’im stick his nose aneth the watter for a glamp o’ fresh air. He’s that hard-hertit ’at he never sae muckle as aits his denner alongside o’ his ain sister, ’cep’ it be whan he has company, an’ wad luik like ither fowk. Gien it gaedna ower weel wi’ her i’ the auld man’s time, it gangs waur wi’ her noo; for sae lang as he was abune the yird there was aye somebody to ken whether she was livin’ or deid. To see a bonnie lass like her strayin’ aboot the place nae better companied nor wi’ an auld buik--it’s jist eneuch to brak a man’s hert, but that age kills rage.” “Do the neighbours take no notice of her?”