in the south
country, unco rash uncanny things;--I was taen up on ane at Saint James's
Fair, and keepit in the auld kirk at Kelso the haill day and night; and
a cauld goustie place it was, I'se assure ye.--But whatna wife's this,
wi' her creel on her back? It's puir Maggie hersell, I'm thinking."

It was so. The poor woman's sense of her loss, if not diminished, was
become at least mitigated by the inevitable necessity of attending to
the means of supporting her family; and her salutation to Oldbuck was
made in an odd mixture between the usual language of solicitation with
which she plied her customers, and the tone of lamentation for her
recent calamity.

"How's a' wi' ye the day, Monkbarns? I havena had the grace yet to come
down to thank your honour for the credit ye did puir Steenie, wi' laying
his head in a rath grave, puir fallow. "--Here she whimpered and wiped
her eyes with the corner of her blue apron--"But the fishing comes on no
that ill, though the gudeman hasna had the heart to gang to sea himsell--
Atweel I would fain tell him it wad do him gude to put hand to wark--but
I'm maist fear'd to speak to him--and it's an unco thing to hear ane o'
us speak that gate o' a man--However, I hae some dainty caller haddies,
and they sall be but three shillings the dozen, for I hae nae pith to
drive a bargain ennow, and maun just tak what ony Christian body will
gie, wi' few words and nae flyting."

"What shall we do, Hector?" said Oldbuck, pausing: "I got into disgrace
with my womankind for making a bad bargain with her before. These
maritime animals, Hector, are unlucky to our family."

"Pooh, sir, what would you do?--give poor Maggie what she asks, or allow
me to send a dish of fish up to Monkbarns."

And he held out the money to her; but Maggie drew back her hand. "Na,
na, Captain; ye're ower young and ower free o' your siller--ye should
never tak a fish-wife's first bode; and troth I think maybe a flyte
wi' the auld housekeeper at Monkbarns, or Miss Grizel, would do me
some gude--And I want to see what that hellicate quean Jenny Ritherout's
doing--folk said she wasna weel--She'll be vexing hersell about Steenie,
the silly tawpie, as if he wad ever hae lookit ower his shouther at the
like o'her!--Weel, Monkbarns, they're braw caller haddies, and they'll
bid me unco little indeed at the house if ye want crappit-heads the
day."

And so on she paced with her burden,--grief, gratitude for the sympathy
of her bet