He asked her many questions
about the Bruces; but her patient nature, and the instinctive feeling
that it would make Dowie unhappy, withheld her from representing the
discomforts of her position in strong colours. Dowie, however, had his
own thoughts on the matter.
"Hoo are ye the nicht, Mr Dow?" said Robert, who treated him with oily
respect, because he was not only acquainted with all Annie's affairs,
but was a kind of natural, if not legal, guardian of her and her
property. "And whaur did ye fa' in wi' this stray lammie o' oors?"
"She's been wi' me this lang time," answered Dow, declining, with
Scotch instinct, to give an answer, before he understood all the drift
of the question. A Scotchman would always like the last question first.
"She's some ill for rinnin' oot," said Bruce, with soft words addressed
to Dow, and a cutting look flung at Annie, "withoot speirin' leave, and
we dinna ken whaur she gangs; and that's no richt for lass-bairns."
"Never ye min' her, Mr Bruce," replied Dow. "I ken her better nor you,
no meanin' ony offence, seein' she was i' my airms afore she was a week
auld. Lat her gang whaur she likes, and gin she does what she sudna do,
I'll tak a' the wyte o' 't.
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