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Lisbeth flounced round. "Don't you go for to say my Peter's slow at his work. It's little ye ken how hard he's at it, nicht an' day, slavin' for you an' the doctor, miss; and he's nane sae auld neither, an' ye needna be ca'in' him an auld rheumaticky body that canna climb a lether." "O Lisbeth, I didn't," reproachfully. "You did so."
Ey wur so moydert an wurrotit wi' their ca'in an bawlin fo' ele an drink, that ey swore they shouldna ha' another drawp wi' my consent; an, to be os good os my word, ey clapt key o' t' cellar i' my pocket, an leavin' our Margit to answer 'em, ey set out os yo see, intendin' to go os far as t' mill, an comfort poor deeavely Ruchot Baldwyn in his trouble."
It was not the moon that could make it so white. "Ginevra!" he said, with trembling voice. "Yes, Donal," she answered. "Ye're no angry at me for ca'in ye by yer name? I never did it afore." "I always call you Donal," she answered. "That's nait'ral. Ye're a gran' leddy, an' I'm naething abune a herd-laddie." "You're a great poet, Donal, and that's much more than being a lady or a gentleman."
"Whaur's the guid o' ca'in' ill names,'uman?" "Ill's the trowth o' them 'at's ill. What for no set ill names to ill duers?" "Cause a christian 's b'un' to destroy the warks o' the evil ane; an' ca'in' names raises mair o' them. The only thing 'at maks awa' wi' ill, is the man himsel' turnin' again' 't, an' that he'll never du for ill names. Ye wad never gar me repent that gait, Grizzie.
"At last!" she said, and would have clasped him to her bosom. But Malcolm stepped back. "Na, na, mem!" he said; "it taks twa to that!" "Malcolm!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion of some kind. "Ye may ca' me your son, mem, but I ken nae gr'un' yet for ca'in' you my " He could not say the word.
Diana I tell you hoo, whan I wan hame at last and gaed til her, for she was aye guid to me when I wasna weel, she fell oot upo' me like a verra deevil, ragin and ca'in me ill names, 'at I jist ran frae the hoose and ye ken whaur ye faun' me! Gien it hadna been for you, I wud have been deid: I was waur nor deid a'ready! What w'y can I be neebour to her!
Finally, I des got morchully tiahed o' dat man's ca'in' on, an' I say to him one day, 'Madison, I say, 'I'm tiahed of all dis foo'ishness, an' I'm gwine up Norf whaih I kin live an' be somebody. Ef evah you mek a man out o' yo'se'f, an' want me, de Bible say 'Seek an' you shell receive. Cause even den I was a mighty han' to c'ote de Scripters.
"Grant me those premises," he would say, while the silence in the kirk could be felt, "and I will show to any reasonable and unprejudiced person that those new theories are nothing but a resuscitated and unjustifiable Pelagianism." Such passages produced a lasting impression in the parish, and once goaded Drumsheugh's Saunders into voluntary speech. "Yon wes worth ca'in' a sermon.
There was a moment's silence, when she suddenly rose and offered me a seat, remarking, as she did so, that "Sisteh Ma'y Ann Jinkins ca'in' on so" made her forget her manners. "What is the matter?" said I. "I dunno, seh, 'cep'n' she's mad 'cause docteh won't leave heh stay and talk to Mist' Wheatley; he made heh go, an' I s'pose hit kindeh put heh out." "What was she doing?"
It's just incredible the mischief that simple circumstance has wrought me I mean, the ca'in me Willie Smith.
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