"D'ye think I keep tea biscuits and cake to feed dowgs wi'?
Stan' there and dinna stir." She put a bit of carpet under the small, dirty boots, and as she grumbled she wiped her hands on a coarse towel that hung behind the door, and reached up for a tin box from the top shelf of the press beside the fire.
"Here, see, there's yin for yerself, an' the broken bits are for Peter.
Here he comes snowkin'," as Peter ambled into the kitchen followed by Pamela.

That lady stood in the doorway.
"Do forgive me coming, but I love a kitchen.

It is always the nicest place in the house, I think; the shining tins are so cheerful, and the red fire." She smiled in an engaging way at Bella, who, after a second, and, as it were, reluctantly, smiled back.
"I see you have given the raider some biscuits," Pamela said.
"He's an ill laddie." Bella Bathgate looked at the Mhor standing obediently on the bit of carpet, munching his biscuit, and her face softened.

"He has neither father nor mother, puir lamb, but I must say Miss Jean never lets him ken the want o' them." "Miss Jean ?" "He bides at The Rigs wi' the Jardines--juist next door here.

She's no a bad lassie, Miss Jean, and wonderfu' sensible considerin'....