It was therefore with no small indignation that she saw on a Sunday morning Mr.Wigglesworth making his way up the lane toward her house door.
"The Lord be guid tae us!" she exclaimed.

"What brings yon cratur here--and on a Sabbath mornin'?
Mind you, Malcolm," she continued in a voice of sharp decision, "A'll hae nane o' his 'rights o' British citizens' clack the morn." "Who is it, Mother ?" enquired her son, coming from his room to look out through the window.

"Oh, dinna fash ye're heid ower yon windbag," he added, dropping into his broadest Doric and patting his mother on the shoulder.
"He disna fash me," said his mother.

"Nae fears.

But A'll no pairmit him to brak the Sabbath in this hoose, A can tell ye." None the less she opened the door to Mr.Wigglesworth with dignified courtesy.
"Guid mornin', Mr.Wigglesworth," she said cordially.