"How many years have you been gardener here?" he asked, forcing
himself to talk.
"Five an' forty year, an' I'm nearhan' tired o' 't."
"The present lord is a young man, is he not?"
"Ay; he canna be muckle ayont five an' thirty."
"What sort of a man is he?"
"Weel, it's hard to say. He's ane o' them 'at naebody says weel o',
an' naebody's begud to say ill o'--yet."
"There can't be much amiss with him then, surely!"'
"Weel, I wadna gang freely sae far as say that, You 'at's a man o'
sense, maun weel un'erstan', gien it was only frae yer carritchis
(catechism), 'at there's baith sins o' o-mission, an' sins o'
co-mission. Noo, what sins o' co-mission may lie at my lord's door,
I dinna ken, an' feow can ken, an' we're no to jeedge; but for the
o-mission, ye hae but to see hoo he neglects that bonny sister o'
his, to be far eneuch frae thinkin' a sant o' 'im."
Silence followed. Cosmo would go no farther in that direction: it
would be fair neither to Lady Joan nor the gardener, who spoke as
to one who knew nothing of the family.
"Noo the father," resumed his new friend, "--puir man, he's deid an'
damned this mony a day!--an' eh, but he was an ill ane!--but as to
Leddy Joan, he wad hardly bide her oot o' his sicht. He cudna be
jist that agreeable company to the likes o' her, puir leddy! for he
was a rouch-spoken, sweirin' auld sinner as ever lived, but sic as
he had he gae her, an' was said to hae been a fine gentleman in's
yoong days.
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