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I min' weel hoo I leuch and grat, baith at ance, to think I was the mother o' a man-child! and I thought I kenned weel what was i' the hert o' Mary, whan she claspit the blessed ane til her boasom!" "May that same bairnie, born for oor remeid, bring oor bairn til his richt min' afore he's ower auld to repent!" responded the father in a broken voice.
I doobt I doobt it winna be to you he'll gang at the lang last. There winna be room for him aside ye in Awbrahawm's boasom. And syne to behave sae ill to that winsome wife o' his! I dinna wonner 'at ye maun be up! Eh na! But, sir, sin ye are up, I wish ye wad speyk to John Thamson no to tak aff the day 'at I was awa' last ook, for 'deed I was verra unweel, and bude to keep my bed.
"That's what this gown has been saying to me ever since I first put the scissors into it," she exclaimed, cheerfully. "I know I've got an awful big back, but that's no reason. Why should a gown be weeks on hand, and then not meet behind you after all? It hangs over my Boasom like a sack it does. Look here, ma'am, at the skirt. It won't come right. It draggles in front, and cocks up behind.
He strode up to his wife, and stood over her like an angel of vengeance. His very lips were white with wrath. "Efter thirty years o' merried life, noo first to ken the wife o' my boasom for a messenger o' Sawtan!" he panted. "Gang oot o' my sicht, wuman!" She fell on her knees, and held up her two hands to him. "Think o' Jamie, Peter!" she pleaded. "I wad tyne my sowl for Jamie!"
But it's a later story, the last." "It's a pity there's no a dizzen or twa o' them in Awbrahawm's boasom. What did they till him neist?" Here Andrew Constable dropped in, and Chapman turned towards him with the question: "Did ye hear, Mr Constable, what the loons did to Robert Bruce the nicht afore last?" "No. What was that? They hae a spite at puir Rob, I believe."
There's plaits on her Boasom, and plaits on mine. Six of one and half a dozen of the other; and mine are the biggest that's all!" Mrs. Lecount shook her head gravely, and entered forthwith into subtleties of disquisition on the art of dressmaking which had the desired effect of utterly bewildering the proprietor of the Oriental Cashmere Robe in less than three minutes. "Don't!" cried Mrs.
Sae ye may keep yer sanct i' yer holy boasom." "Dinna gang on that gait, Mr Cupples. Gin ye can direc' me to the purification o' our wee bit temple, I'll hearken heumbly. I only wiss ye war ane o' us."
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