"Whaur that may be, I confess I'm whiles laith to think.

Only gien I was you, Maister Sclater, I wad think twise afore I made ill waur." "But hear me, Mistress Croale: it's not your besotted customers only I have to care for.

Your soul is as precious in my sight as any of which I shall have to render an account." "As Mistress Bonniman's, for enstance ?" suggested Mrs.Croale, interrogatively, and with just the least trace of pawkiness in the tone.
The city, large as it was, was yet not large enough to prevent a portion of the private affairs of individuals from coming to be treated as public property, and Mrs.Bonniman was a handsome and rich young widow, the rumour of whose acceptableness to Mr.Sclater had reached Mistress Croale's ear before ever she had seen the minister himself.

An unmistakable shadow of confusion crossed his countenance; whereupon with consideration both for herself and him, the woman made haste to go on, as if she had but chosen her instance at merest random.
"Na, na, sir! what my sowl may be in the eyes o' my Maker, I hae ill tellin'," she said, "but dinna ye threip upo' me 'at it's o' the same vailue i' your eyes as the sowl o' sic a fine bonny, winsome leddy as yon.

In trouth," she added, and shook her head mournfully, "I haena had sae mony preevileeges; an' maybe it'll be seen till, an' me passed ower a wheen easier nor some fowk." "I wouldn't have you build too much upon that, Mistress Croale," said Mr.Sclater, glad to follow the talk down another turning, but considerably more afraid of rousing the woman than he had been before.
The remark drove her behind the categorical stockade of her religious merits.
"I pey my w'y," she said, with modest firmness.