J. J. Bell

“ Ye'll get plenty o' me yet. An', furbye, I'm wearyin' fur ma ain hoose.... David Houston," she went on, raising her voice, "did I ever mention to ye that ma coal-cellar door wis wantin' a lock?"
"Ye did, Mistress Wallace," said David, reddening.
Mrs. Wallace chuckled, and held out her hand. "Never heed, Davie. It's the last time I'll speak aboot it. You an' Jess 'll come to yer tea the morn's nicht, an' ha'e a crack aboot—ha! ha! ha!—ither maitters. Eh, Maister Ogilvy? Ha! ha!"
The grocer slid to the door. "I wud be pleased to tak' yer paircels in the cairt, Mistress Wallace," he said. ”

“ He was tellin' me him an' the guidwife wud arrive aboot fower o'clock."
"Ay. An' it 'll tak' me a' ma time to be ready fur them," muttered Mrs. Wallace, resuming her dusting with great vigor.
"I—I hope I'm no' in yer road, Mistress Wallace," Mr. Ogilvy said, from the easy-chair, as the duster came near to flapping in his face.
"Ay, ye're in ma road. Awa', an' tak' a sate on the sofa. Ye had nae business sittin' doon in the easy-chair an' crumplin' the braw tidy wi' your big, silly heid. A man's waur nor a dizzen weans when ye're wantin' to mak' things nate." ”

“ It's no' jist curiosity, fur I've a wee bit siller o' ma ain, an'—an' I'm fond o' Jess."
The grocer sat looking at his feet, his hands on his knees.
Mrs. Wallace broke the silence. "It 'll hurt naebody to tell me," she said, persuasively.
"Ye—ye're a kind wumman, Mistress Wallace.... But did Angus no' tell ye the—the amount?"
"Ay. He had it in a wee boax, an'—"
"Ye seen it?" Mr. Ogilvy gasped, and gripped his knees.
She nodded. "An' he said he thocht he wud be able to add somethin' mair afore he gaed awa', puir man. But I doot he didna manage that.... ”

“ Guid-nicht to ye—soon' sleep—an'—an' may ye get yer reward."
She shut the window, and watched him as he went down the path.
"A guid man, but a bad leear," she said, to herself. "I'll see he gets his money back some day." ”

“ The puir man tell't me twa-three days afore he dee'd, an' he askit me to tak' chairge o' 't, seem' I wis the lass's auntie, but I tell't him to gi'e it to yersel', fur I ha'e nae place in ma hoose fur keepin' ither folk's siller. So, ye see, Maister Ogilvy, it wisna a' yer ain secret efter a'. ”