She's ministerin' to them 'at hae mony preeviledges nae doot, but hae room for mair." "I'm no saying naething," said Bruce.
"Ye are sayin'.

Ye're offendin' ane o' his little anes.

Tak ye tent o' the millstane." "Hoot toot! Tibbie.

I was only wissin 'at she wad keep a sma' part o' her ministrations for her ain hame and her ain fowk 'at has the ministerin' to her.

There's the mistress and me jist mairtyrs to that chop! And there's the bit infant in want o' some _ministration_ noo and than, gin that be what ye ca' 't." A grim compression of the mouth was all Tibbie's reply.