CHAPTER VII.
THE STATEMENT OF TIBBIE BIRSE On a Thursday Pete Lownie was buried, and when Hendry returned from the funeral Jess asked if Davit Lunan had been there.
"Na," said Hendry, who was shut up in the closet-bed, taking off his blacks, "I heard tell he wasna bidden." "Yea, yea," said Jess, nodding to me significantly.

"Ay, weel," she added, "we'll be hae'n Tibbie ower here on Saturday to deave's (weary us) to death aboot it." Tibbie, Davit's wife, was sister to Marget, Pete's widow, and she generally did visit Jess on Saturday night to talk about Marget, who was fast becoming one of the most fashionable persons in Thrums.
Tibbie was hopelessly plebeian.

She was none of your proud kind, and if I entered the kitchen when she was there she pretended not to see me, so that, if I chose, I might escape without speaking to the like of her.

I always grabbed her hand, however, in a frank way.
On Saturday Tibbie made her appearance.

From the rapidity of her walk, and the way she was sucking in her mouth, I knew that she had strange things to unfold.