Chapter 15 - Page 2

place gin there's ony mair complaints o' the kind."

"Hout, lass--the provost will take care o' that."

"Na, na, I'll neither trust to provost nor bailier" said the
postmistress,--"but I wad aye be obliging and neighbourly, and I'm no
again your looking at the outside of a letter neither--See, the seal has
an anchor on't--he's done't wi' ane o' his buttons, I'm thinking."

"Show me! show me!" quoth the wives of the chief butcher and chief baker;
and threw themselves on the supposed love-letter, like the weird sisters
in Macbeth upon the pilot's thumb, with curiosity as eager and scarcely
less malignant. Mrs. Heukbane was a tall woman--she held the precious
epistle up between her eyes and the window. Mrs. Shortcake, a little
squat personage, strained and stood on tiptoe to have her share of the
investigation.

"Ay, it's frae him, sure eneugh," said the butcher's lady;--"I can read
Richard Taffril on the corner, and it's written, like John Thomson's
wallet, frae end to end."

"Haud it lower down, madam," exclaimed Mrs. Shortcake, in a tone above
the prudential whisper which their occupation required--"haud it lower
down--Div ye think naebody can read hand o' writ but yoursell?"

"Whist, whist, sirs, for God's sake!" said Mrs. Mailsetter, "there's
somebody in the shop,"--then aloud--"Look to the customers, Baby!"--Baby
answered from without in a shrill tone--"It's naebody but Jenny Caxon,
ma'am, to see if there's ony letters to her."

"Tell her," said the faithful postmistress, winking to her compeers, "to
come back the morn at ten o'clock, and I'll let her ken--we havena had
time to sort the mail letters yet--she's aye in sic a hurry, as if her
letters were o' mair consequence than the best merchant's o' the town."

Poor Jenny, a girl of uncommon beauty and modesty, could only draw her
cloak about her to hide the sigh of disappointment and return meekly home
to endure for another night the sickness of the heart occasioned by hope
delayed.

"There's something about a needle and a pole," said Mrs. Shortcake, to
whom her taller rival in gossiping had at length yielded a peep at the
subject of their curiosity.

"Now, that's downright shamefu'," said Mrs. Heukbane, "to scorn the poor
silly gait of a lassie after he's keepit company wi' her sae lang, and
had his will o' her, as I make nae doubt he has."

"It's but ower muckle to be doubted," echoed Mrs. Shortcake;--"to cast up
to her that her father's a barber and has a pole at his door, and that
she's but a manty-maker hersell! Hout fy for