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'Dinna be ill-tongued, Robert, or I'll jist gang benn the hoose to the mistress. 'Betty, wha began wi' bein' ill-tongued? Gin ye tell my grandmither that I gaed oot the nicht, I'll gang to the schuilmaister o' Muckledrum, and get a sicht o' the kirstenin' buik; an' gin yer name binna there, I'll tell ilkabody I meet 'at oor Betty was never kirstened; and that'll be a sair affront, Betty.
The lee lang day he was among 's fowk workin' his michty wark. Whan the nicht cam', in which no man could wark, he gaed hame till 's Father, as 't war. Eh me! but it's weel to ha'e a man like the schuilmaister to put trowth intill ye. I kenna what comes o' them 'at ha'e drucken maisters, or sic as cares for naething but coontin' an Laitin, an' the likes o' that!"
The same moment Jean's head was popped in at the door: she had her reasons for always answering the bell like a bullet. "Mem?" said Jean. "Jean, I'm gaein' oot the nicht. The minister oucht to be spoken till aboot the schuilmaister, honest man. Tak the lantren wi' ye to the manse aboot ten o'clock. That 'll be time eneuch." "Verra weel, mem. But I'm thinkin' there's a mune the nicht."
Na, na; gien I can be a schuilmaister, an' help the bairnies to be guid, as my mither taucht mysel', an' hae time to read, an' a feow shillin's to buy buiks aboot Aigypt an' the Holy Lan', an' a full an' complete edition o' Plato, an' a Greek Lexicon a guid ane, an' a Jamieson's Dictionar', haith, I'll be a hawpy man!
She 's a guid body, but she wadna believe her ain een gien onybody ca'd a minister said contrar' to them." "Who the devil do you mean then?" "Nae deevil, but an honest man 'at 's been his warst enemy sae lang 's I hae kent him: Maister Graham, the schuilmaister." "Pooh!" said the marquis with a puff. "I'm too old to go to school." "I dinna ken the man 'at isna a bairn till him, my lord."
"Wha wad hae aither a pure schuilmaister or a shepherd? 'cep' it was maybe some lass like my sister Nicie, 'at wadna ken Euclid frae her hose, or Burns frae a mill-dam, or conic sections frae the hole i' the great peeramid." "I don't like to hear you talk like that, Donal," said Gibbie. "What do you say to mother?" "The mither's no to be said aboot," answerd Donal.
"An' what was 't she was efter, the jaud?" cried Miss Horn, without any attempt to conceal her growing interest. "She made naething o' 't, whatever it was; for doon the street cam the schuilmaister, an' chappit at the door, an gaed in an' waitit till ye came hame." "Weel!" said Miss Horn. But Mrs Mellis held her peace. "Weel!!?" repeated Miss Horn.
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