A Stewart from the Highlands

McCormick met this woman, a Stewart from the Highlands, at Parliament Knowe. A poor old shrivelled mite of a woman was squatting on the ground in the mouth of the tent. Her frock was in tatters and hung loosely on her shrunken frame. Her garment bodice being open at the neck showed that she wore little or no underclothing. A cutty pipe was in her mouth, and if clouds of smoke mean aught she was enjoying her smoke. “Barrie davies, gran-maismort” (Fine day, grannie), I said. “Tis that kind sir,” she said, turning her sightless face towards me. “Don’t you know cant, grannie?” “Oh aye dear, bit I seldom speak it.” “Why?” I asked. “Oh, it’s juist no nice.”