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I saw no more o' Abe, nor o' t' lake, nor o' t' birk-trees; an' t' next time I oppened my een there were a doctor chap stannin' ower me wi' a belly-pump in his hand, an' I were liggin' on a bed as weak as a kitlin." Job was silent for a while, after finishing his story and relighting his pipe, and his silence gave me a chance of looking at him closely.
I ga'e Gowans Donal' an' thirty shillin's, an' he ga'e me a he tortyshall kitlin' to the bute the only ane i' the countryside. He's genna hand it in the morn." There was nae want o' soond in Princie's wind at ony rate. I saw that in a minute. He was whistlin' like a lerik. "He sooks wind a little when he has a lang rin," says Sandy; "but that's nether here nor there.
But aw'll come an' look at it. An' away he went to th' wesh-house, wi' th' little lass pooin' at him, like a kitlin' drawin' a stone-cart. Th' owd woman followed him, grumblin' o' th' road, 'Isaac, this is what comes on tho stoppin' so lat' i'th town of a neet. There's olez some blunderin' job or another. Aw lippen on tho happenin' a sayrious mischoance, some o' these neets.
Sandy lost thirty shillin's an' a cairt-load o' tatties ower the heid o' Princie; an' as for the he tortyshall kitlin', I've never heard nor seen hint nor hair o't. "Man, Bawbie, I think I'll see an' get into the Toon Cooncil some o' thae days," says Sandy to me the ither forenicht.
Where win yo ha't put, Betty? 'Eh, I'm fain thae's brought it, said Betty. 'It's for th' chapel; an' it'll be wanted for Sunday. Sitho, set it deawn i' this front reawm here; an' mind what thae'rt doin' with it. So Robin, an' Barfoot Sam, an' Little Wamble, 'at looks after th' horses at 'Th' Rompin' Kitlin, geet it eawt o'th cart.
He mun ha' co'de at 'Th' Rompin' Kitlin'; but, I'll look in as I go by." "I wish thou would, Skedlock. An' dunnot' go an' keep him, now; send him forrud whoam." "I will, Nanny I dunnot want to stop, mysel'. Con yo lend me a lantron?" "Sure I can. Jenny, bring that lantron; an' leet it. It'll be two hours afore th' moon rises. It's a fine neet, but it's dark."
"Nay, it's 'B.A., and fowks wodn't call a lass like Mary Taylor able-bodied; shoo's no more strength in her nor a kitlin." "I reckon it's nowt to do wi' her body, isn't 'B.A.," interposed the Colonel. "Shoo'll be one o' yon college lasses, an' they tell me they're all foorced to put 'B.A. at after their names."
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