I daresay it comes of living in so small a place." I overtook Leeby on the brae, aware, as I saw her alone, that it had been her father whom I passed talking to Tammas Haggart in the Square.
Hendry stopped to have what he called a tove with any likely person he encountered, and, indeed, though he and I often took a walk on Saturdays, I generally lost him before we were clear of the town.
In a few moments Leeby and I were at home to give Jess the news.
"Whaur's yer father ?" asked Jess, as if Hendry's way of dropping behind was still unknown to her.
"Ou, I left him speakin' to Gavin Birse," said Leeby.

"I daursay he's awa to some hoose." "It's no very silvendy (safe) his comin' ower the brae by himsel," said Jess, adding in a bitter tone of conviction, "but he'll gang in to no hoose as lang as he's so weel dressed.

Na, he would think it boastfu'." I sat down to a book by the kitchen fire; but, as Leeby became communicative, I read less and less.

While she spoke she was baking bannocks with all the might of her, and Jess, leaning forward in her chair, was arranging them in a semicircle round the fire.
"Na," was the first remark of Leeby's that came between me and my book, "it is no new furniture." "But there was three cart-loads o't, Leeby, sent on frae Edinbory.
Tibbie Birse helpit to lift it in, and she said the parlour furniture beat a'." "Ou, it's substantial, but it is no new.

I sepad it had been bocht cheap second-hand, for the chair I had was terrible scratched like, an', what's mair, the airm-chair was a heap shinnier than the rest." "Ay, ay, I wager it had been new stuffed.