"Whether I ken Bessy Maclure?" answered the landlord, with a landlord's laugh—"How can I but ken my ain wife's (haly be her rest)—my ain wife's first gudeman's sister, Bessie Maclure? an honest wife she is, but sair she's been trysted wi' misfortunes,—the loss o' twa decent lads o' sons, in the time o' the persecution, as they ca' it now-a-days; and doucely and decently she has bore her burthen, blaming nane, and condemning nane. If there's an honest woman in the world, it's Bessie Maclure. And to lose her twa sons, as I was saying, and to hae dragoons clinked down on her for a month bypast—for, be whig or tory uppermost, they aye quarter thae loons on victuallers,—to lose, as I was saying"—
"This woman keeps an inn, then?" interrupted Morton.
"A public, in a puir way," replied Blane, looking round at his own superior accommodations—"a sour browst o' sma' ale that she sells to folk that are ower drouthy
