ooking at everybody but Christie, addressed the natives
who were congregating thus:

"Did ever ye hear o' a decent lass taking the herrin' oot o' the men's
mooths?--is yon a woman's pairt, I'm asking ye?"

On this, Christie, looking carefully at all the others except Beeny,
inquired with an air of simple curiosity:

"Can onybody tell me wha Liston Carnie's drunken wife is speakin' till?
no to ony decent lass, though. Na! ye ken she wad na hae th' impudence!"

"Oh, ye ken fine I'm speakin' till yoursel'."

Here the horns clashed together.

"To me, woman?" _(with admirably acted surprise.)_ "Oo, ay! it will be
for the twa years' rent you're awin me. Giest!"

_Beeny Liston._ "Ye're just the impudentest girrl i' the toon, an' ye
hae proved it the day" (her arms akimbo).

_Christie (arms akimbo)._ "Me, impudent? how daur ye speak against my
charackter, that's kenned for decency o' baith sides the Firrth."

_Beeny (contemptuously)._ "Oh, ye're sly enough to beguile the men, but
we ken ye."

_Christie._ "I'm no sly, and" _(drawing near and hissing the words)_
"I'm no like the woman Jean an' I saw in Rose Street, dead drunk on the
causeway, while her mon was working for her at sea. If ye're no ben your
hoose in ae minute, I'll say that will gar Liston Carnie fling ye ower
the pier-head, ye fool-moothed drunken leear--Scairt!"*

*A local word; a corruption from the French _Sortez._

If my reader has seen and heard Mademoiselle Rachel utter her famous
_Sortez,_ in "Virginie," he knows exactly with what a gesture and tone
the Johnstone uttered this word.

_Beeny (in a voice of whining surprise)._ "Hech! what a spite Flucker
Johnstone's dochter has taen against us."

_Christie._ "Scairt!"

_Beeny (in a coaxing voice, and moving a step)._ "Aweel! what's a' your
paession, my boenny woman?"

_Christie._ "Scairt!"

Beeny retired before the thunder and lightning of indignant virtue.

Then all the fishboys struck up a dismal chant of victory.

"Yoo-hoo--Custy's won the day--Beeny's scair_tit,"_ going up on the last
syllable.

Christie moved slowly away toward her own house, but before she could
reach the door she began to whimper--little fool.

Thereat chorus of young Athenians chanted:

"Yu-hoo! come back, Beeny, ye'll maybe win yet. Custy's away gree_tin"_
_(going up on the last syllable)._

"I'm no greetin, ye rude bairns," said Christie, bursting into tears,
and retiring as soon as she had effected t