"Mysie's
no' coorse, an' she worked on the pithead."
"No, Mysie's no' coorse," admitted his mother; "but Mysie didna work
very lang on the pit-head. An' forby, we dinna ken but what Mysie micht
hae been better if she had never been near it, or worse if she had
stayed langer. Just look at Susan Morton, an' that Mag Lindsay. What are
they but shameless lumps who dinna ken what modesty is?" and there was a
spark of the old scorn in her voice as she finished.
"Oh, but I wadna gang as faur as you, mither," he said, "wi' your
condemnations. I ken that baith Susan Morton an' Mag Lindsay are
guid-hearted women. They may be coarse in their talk, an' a' that sort
o' thing; but they are as kind-hearted as onybody else, an' kinder than
some."
"Oh; I hae nae doot," she answered relentingly. "I didna mean that at
a'; but the pit-head doesna make them ony better, an' it's no' wark for
them at a'."
"I mind," said Robert reminiscently, "when Mysie an' me started on the
pit-head, Mag Lindsay was awfu' guid to Mysie; an' I've kent her often
sharin' her piece wi' wee Dicky Tamson, whiles when he had nane, if his
mother happened to be on the fuddle for a day or twa.
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