ster Francie; and I never
heard of alewife that turned preacher, except Luckie Buchan in the
west.[I-8] And if I were to preach, I think I have mair the spirit of a
Scottishwoman, than to preach in the very room they hae been dancing in
ilka night in the week, Saturday itsell not excepted, and that till twal
o'clock at night. Na, na, Maister Francie; I leave the like o' that to
Mr. Simon Chatterly, as they ca' the bit prelatical sprig of divinity
from the town yonder, that plays at cards, and dances six days in the
week, and on the seventh reads the Common Prayer-book in the ball-room,
with Tam Simson, the drunken barber, for his clerk."

"I think I have heard of Mr. Chatterly," said Tyrrel.

"Ye'll be thinking o' the sermon he has printed," said the angry dame,
"where he compares their nasty puddle of a Well yonder to the pool of
Bethseda, like a foul-mouthed, fleeching, feather-headed fule as he is!
He should hae kend that the place got a' its fame in the times of black
Popery; and though they pat it in St. Ronan's name, I'll never believe
for one that the honest man had ony hand in it; for I hae been tell'd by
ane that suld ken, that he was nae Roman, but only a Cuddie, or
Culdee,[I-C] or such like.--But will ye not take anither dish of tea,
Maister Francie? and a wee bit of the diet-loaf, raised wi' my ain fresh
butter, Maister Francie? and no wi' greasy kitchen-fee, like the
seedcake down at the confectioner's yonder, that has as mony dead flees
as carvy in it. Set him up for a confectioner!--Wi' a penniworth of
rye-meal, and anither of tryacle, and twa or three carvy-seeds, I will
make better confections than ever cam out of his oven."

"I have no doubt of that, Mrs. Dods," said the guest; "and I only wish
to know how these new comers were able to establish themselves against a
house of such good reputation and old standing as yours?--It was the
virtues of the mineral, I dare say; but how came the waters to recover a
character all at once, mistress?"

"I dinna ken, sir--they used to be thought good for naething, but here
and there for a puir body's bairn, that had gotten the cruells,[I-9] and
could not afford a penniworth of salts. But my Leddy Penelope Penfeather
had fa'an ill, it's like, as nae other body ever fell ill, and sae she
was to be cured some gate naebody was ever cured, which was naething
mair than was reasonable--and my leddy, ye ken, has wit at wull, and has
a' the wise folk out from Edinburgh at