"
"But, good mother Janet--"
"Mother your own mother, man, till you be a father, Aminadab. Have I not
told you to let me go on? There's no honour in a mother: that sow you
are eating was the mother six times of thirteen at each litter; and I
think that's about seventy-eight. Mother, forsooth! Ay, and yet you'll
see a beggar wretch, clad in tanterwallops--rags is owre guid a
word--coming to Logie door, and looking as if she had the right to
demand meal from me, merely because she has two at her feet and one in
her arms. Such honourable gaberlunzies get no meal from me. My master
was keen for the match; but the Nabob was shy of the white face. And
here's a curious thing--I got it from my lady herself. She said the
Nabob, her papa, as she called him--for, just like us here, they have
kindly words and real human feelings--made a bargain with my master,
that if he took her away out of India to where the big woman they call
the Company lives, he would be kind to her, and '_treat her as he would
do a child which is rocked in a cradle_.'"
"Better than Naomi's wish," said Aminadab; "'And the Lord grant ye find
rest in the house of thy husband.
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