"Give me now the kiss you threw me," said I, as she was turning to leave.
"Nay, sir," she said. "You're not in trouble now, and dunna need it."
"Lassie," said I, "that's a right womanly reply, and here's something to
buy a ribbon with that shall be worthy of you." And I gave her one of the
dead Major's guineas.
"Thank yer, sir," she said. "And besides there's no need for you to be
kissing the likes of me."
"You're a sweetly pretty lassie," said I.
"Y' dunna want to be gawpin' around after pennies when there's guineas to
be picked up," she replied, with a toss of her head. "Struth, I wish at
times I wasna quite so pretty. There's some men, bless you, I know one
myself, such fools that they think a pretty wench doesna want kissin'.
But, sartin sure, there's never been the like of 'er ladyship in Newcastle
in my time. I'll 'ave a ribbon on Sunday as near the colour and shine of
'er ladyship's hair as money can buy, and Sail'll wish 'er'd never been
born. I'll Sim 'er."
With this terrible threat she flounced out of the room, and I laughed and
wondered who and what 'Sim' was.
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