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Mar. Be angry or be well pleased, I'll sayt in a' your faces, and I'll call you before your betters ere lang gae.
John enters.—A what want ye now! our brose ready yet?
Mith. Ay, brose! black brose indeed for thee, my bairn; here's Marion Mushet saying ye hae gotten her dochter wi' bairn.
Jock. Me, mither, I never lay in a bed wi' her dochter a' my days; it'll be the young Laird's for a saw him kiss her at a Lammas fair and let glaum at her,—nonsense.
Mith. Ay, ay, my man, Johnny, that is the way; 'tis no you, nor the like of you, puir innocent lad; 'tis a wheen rambling o'erfull lowns ilka ane of them loups on another, and gies the like of you the wyte o't.
Mar. Ye may say what you like about it, it's easy to ca' a court whar there's nae body to say again; but I'll let you ken about it, and that is she tell't me, and you gudewife tell't me some o't yoursel'; and gin you hadna brought in Maggy wi' her muckle tocher atween the twa,
