She now looked up, and faced me. "No, sir. There were three
sons of the last laird of Glentanner, as he was then called.
John and William were hopeful young gentlemen, but they died
early--one of a decline brought on by the mizzles, the other lost
his life in a fever. It would hae been lucky for mony ane that
Chrystal had gane the same gate."
"Oh, he must have been the young spendthrift that sold the
property? Well, but you should you have such an ill-will against
him; remember necessity has no law. And then, goodwife, he was
not more culpable than Mr. Treddles, whom you are so sorry for."
"I wish I could think sae, sir, for his mother's sake. But Mr.
Treddles was in trade, and though he had no preceese right to do
so, yet there was some warrant for a man being expensive that
imagined he was making a mint of money. But this unhappy lad
devoured his patrimony, when he kenned that he was living like a
ratten in a Dunlap cheese, and diminishing his means at a' hands.
I canna bide to think on't." With this she broke out into a
snatch of a ballad, but little of mirth was there either in the
tone or the expression:--
"For he did spend, and make an end
Of gear that his forefathers wan;
Of land and ware he made him bare,
So speak nae mair of the auld gudeman.
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