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“Oh, ho, is this you, Maggie Forsyth? Often have I gone to see you, but this is the first time you have dropped in to see me.”

“See you, you withered auld stick! I just dropped in to speer a few questions at you.”

“Auld stick, Mag; I’m no sae auld that I canna loe ye.”

“Maybe, but I dinna loe you.”

“Look here, lassie; see this bit airn kistie; its fu o’ siller dollars; eneuch to varnish an auld stick an keep a silken gown on yer back every day o’ the year.”

“An eneuch in thae dirty bottles to pooshen me when ye wad?”

“Ha, ha, my lass; see what it is to hae lear. I didna gang four lang sessions to new college, Aberdeen, for naething. I can heal as well as pooshen. It’s no every lassie has a chance to get a man o’ my means and learnin.”

“Aye, an its no every lassie that wad want them alang wi’ an auld wizened body.”

“Hech, Mag, ye’re wit is ower sharp. When a man’s going down hill, ilka body gies him a jundie. If ye winna, anither will, but we’ll let that flee stick i’ the wa’ for awhile. Where is your faither?”