She rose
in haste, mechanically drying her hands in her apron.
"How's the algebra getting on, Agnes?" he said.
"Naething's gettin' on verra weel sin' maister Cosmo gaed frae the
schuil, sir. I dinna seem to hae the hert for the learnin' 'at I
had sae lang as he was there, sae far aheid o' me, but no
a'thegither oot 'o my sicht, like.--It soon's a conceitit kin' o' a
thing to say, but I'm no meanin' onything o' that natur', sir."
"I understand you very well, Agnes," returned the master. "Would
you like to have some lessons with me? I don't say along with
Cosmo; you would hardly be able for that at present, I fancy--but
at such times as you could manage to come--odd times, when you were
not wanted."
"There's naething upo' the airth, sir," said Aggie, "'at I wad like
half sae weel. Thae jist a kin' o' a hoonger upo' me forun'erstan'in'
things. Its frae bein' sae muckle wi' Maister Cosmo,
I'm thinkin'--ever sin' he was a bairn, ye ken, sir; for bein' twa
year aul'er nor him, I was a kin' o' a wee nursie til him; an' ever
sin' syne we hae had nae secrets frae ane anither; an' ye ken what
he's like--aye wantin' to win at the boddom o' things, an' that's
infeckit me, sae 'at I canna rist whan I see onybody un'erstan'in'
a thing, till I set aboot gettin' a grip o' 't mysel'."
"A very good infection to take, Agnes," replied the master, with a
smile of thorough pleasure, "and one that will do more for you than
the cow-pox.
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