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'But surely ye're raisin' an awfu' excitement ower a pair o' socks. 'It wasna the socks, ye stupid: it was the fondest love! John laughed again, but less boisterously, 'Maggie's no blate, whaever she is. Did ye no speir at Macgreegor aboot her? 'Oh, man! ha'e ye nae sense? I jist tied up the paircel again an' left it on his bed. 'Weel, that ends it, John said comfortably.
She would sometimes smoke with him. Occasionally she would only take a few whiffs at his cigarette. "Nay," he said to her one evening, when she reached for his cigarette. "Nay, tha doesna. I'll gi'e thee a smoke kiss if ter's a mind." "I wanted a whiff, no kiss at all," she answered. "Well, an' tha s'lt ha'e a whiff," he said, "along wi' t' kiss."
'If you an' me was gaun oor lane to restewrant, I wud tak' ye on; but 'Aw, ye mean it wudna be the thing a tea pairty? 'Hardly. 'Weel, weel, said Willie, with sorry resignation, 'honest money's ill to earn. It wud ha'e been a snip for me. Ha'e ye a match? 'Having lit up: 'Tell us what else I maunna dae at the pairty. Macgregor scratched his head.
"Gang an' tell them i' my name, 'at I tak' back ilka scart o' a nottice I ever ga'e ane o' them to quit, only we maun ha'e nae mair stan'in' o' honest fowk 'at comes to bigg herbours till them. Div ye think it wad be weel ta'en gien ye tuik a poun' nott the piece to the twa women?" "I wadna du that, sir, gien I was you," answered Malcolm.
It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his childish thought. There! that's what ye wad hae o' me, mem!" "Hear till him!" cried Miss Horn. "The man's i' the richt, though naebody never h'ard o' 'im. Haud ye by that, Ma'colm, an' dinna ye rist till ye ha'e biggit a harbour to the men an' women o' Scaurnose.
'Oh, jist guessed. It's her? 'Maybe. . . . She hasna ta'en the ring yet. 'But ye think she will, or ye wudna ha'e tell't me. Weel, I'm sure I wish ye luck, Macgreegor. She's a bonny bit lass, rael clever, I wud say, an' an' gey stylish. 'She's no that stylish onyway, no stylish like Aunt Purdie. 'Ah, but ye maunna cry doon yer Aunt Purdie 'I didna mean that. But ye ken what I mean, fayther.
She hoped, however, that now he would contrive to get this part over as quickly as possible, for which, in the morning, she would, she said, show him cogent reasons. "I ha'e no feelin's mysel', as ye weel ken, laddie," she remarked in conclusion, "an' I doobt, gien I had been i' your place, I wad na hae luikit to a' sides o' the thing at ance as ye hae dune.
"Ow, the kirk o' Scotlan', of coorse!" answered the patient, in some surprise at her ignorance. "Ow, whase but the Redeemer's!" "An' div ye think, Mr Craithie, 'at gien Jesus Christ had had a horse to sell, he wad ha'e hidden frae him 'at wad buy, ae hair a fau't 'at the beast hed? Wad he no ha'e dune till's neiper as he wad ha'e his neiper du to him?" What wad he hae to du wi' horse flesh?"
"Ye decoy't me intill the hoose o' ineequity!" was Peter's indignant reply; "an' it 's no what ye ever ga'e me cause to expec' o' ye, sae 'at I micht ha'e ta'en tent o' ye." "I thoucht nae ill o' 't," returned Malcolm. "Weel, I div," retorted Peter. "Then perhaps you are wrong," said Malcolm, "for charity thinketh no evil. You wouldn't stay to see the thing out."
Let them ken that Rundell decided just yesterday to start the places, and that Andra and Geordie can start the morn. I ha'e no ill wull at ony o' the twa o' them, and I'm vexed that things ha'e been as bad as they've been, but I couldna get the boss to start the places, and what could I do? They can a' be back at their work the morn if they like to look at it reasonably.
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