The conversation in the byre proceeded somewhat in this way: 

Jess was milking her last cow, with her head looking sideways at Ebie, who stood plaiting Marly’s tail in a newfangled fashion he had brought from the low end of the parish, and which was just making its way among young men of taste.

“Aye, ye’ll say so, nae doot,” said Jess, in reply to some pointed compliment of her admirer; “but I ken you fowk frae the laich end ower weel.  Ye hae practeesed a’ that kind o’ talk on the lasses doon there, or ye wadna be sae gleg [ready] wi’t to me, Ebie.”

This is an observation which shows that Jess could not have eaten more effectively of the tree of knowledge, had she been born in Mayfair.

Ebie laughed a laugh half of depreciation, half of pleasure, like a cat that has its back stroked and its tail pinched at the same time.

“Na, na, Jess, it a’ comes by natur’.  I never likit a lassie afore I set my een on you,” said Ebie, which, to say the least of it, was curious, considering that he had an assortment of locks of hair—­black, brown, and lint-white—­up in the bottom of his “kist” in the stable loft where he slept.  He kept them along with his whipcord and best Sunday pocket knife, and sometimes he took a look at them when he had to move them in order to get his green necktie.  “I never really likit a lass afore, Jess, ye may believe me, for I wasna a lad to rin after them.  But whenever I cam’ to Craig Ronald I saw that I was dune for.”

“Stan’ back, ye muckle slabber!” said Jess, suddenly and emphatically, in a voice that could have been heard a hundred yards away.  Speckly was pushing sideways against her as if to crowd her off her stool.

“Say ye sae, Ebie?” she added, as if she had not previously spoken, in the low even voice in which she had spoken from the first, and which could be heard by Ebie alone.  In the country they conduct their love-making in water-tight compartments.  And though Ebie knew very well that the Cuif was there, and may have suspected Jock Forrest, even after his apparent withdrawal, so long as they did not trouble him in his conversation with Jess, he paid no heed to them, nor indeed they to him.  No man is his brother’s keeper when he goes to the byre to plait cows’ tails.

“But hoo div ye ken, or, raither, what gars ye think that ye’re no the first that I hae likit, Jess?”

“Oh, I ken fine,” said Jess, who was a woman of knowledge, and had her share of original sin.

“But hoo div ye ken?” persisted Ebie.

“Fine that,” said Jess, diplomatically.

A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS

“But tell us, Jess,” said Ebie, who was in high good humour at these fascinating accusations.

“Oh,” said Jess, with a quick gipsy look out of her fine dark eyes, “brawly I kenned on Saturday nicht that yon wasna the first time ye had kissed a lass!”