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bairn the day? Haste thee an' gang away, then; and stay nouther to put on clean bussing, kirtle, nor barrie, else ye may be an antrin meenut or twa owre lang."
Jean made no reply, but, drawing the skirt of her gown over her shoulders, she set out for Drumlochie, a distance of nearly a mile; and as she went by the corner of the byre, she weened she heard her bairn's voice, in great passion or distress, and ran straight into the byre, crying out, "What's the matter wi' you, Tibby? what ails you my bairn?" but receiving no answer, she thought her voice must have been somewhere outside the house, and slid quietly out, looking everywhere, and at length went down to the kitchen.
Tibby had run a hard risk that hour, not from any proffer of riches or finery—these had no temptations for her—she could not even understand the purport or drift of them. But she did escape, however; and it was, perhaps, her grandmother's voice that saved her.
Mr Forret, alias Gledging Gibby, had borne the brunt of incensed kirk-sessions before that time, and also the unlicensed tongues of mothers, roused into vehemance by the degradation of beloved daughters; but never in his life did he hear such a rebuke as he did that day from the tongue of
