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I feel'd within mysel', that if I'd only haen the chance see 'at that reed herrin's no' burnin' I michta been a dreel sergint or a general " "A general haiverin' ass," I strak in. "See; there's your herrin'; poor oot your tea noo, an' haud your lang tongue."
"Oor Toon Cooncil's juist like this Ralph the Rover, gaen awa' scoorin' the sea for nae end for the sea's no' needin' scoorin' when he michta been at hame helpin' his wife to ca' the washin'-machine. It's usef'u' wark we want. Neen o' your Bailie Thingymabob's capers, wi' his donkey engines, eksettera. Echt thoosand pound for a noo kirkyaird! Did ye ever hear the like!
I'm shure I'm no complainin', but Sandy Bowden's been an unsatisfaktory man in mony weys; but, as the Bible says, we've a' a dwang o' some kind, an' if I hadna gotten Sandy, weel, I michta haen a drucken son, or a licht-heided dauchter. Wha can tell? We've a' a hankie mair than we deserve, nae doot. I ken I have onywey; but that's nether here nor there.
"Man, gin ye'd haen the brains o' a cock spug," I heard him sayin' till himsel', "ye michta jaloosed they were to play ye some prank. You muckle, dozent gozlin'," he says; an' he took himsel' a skelp i' the side o' the heid wi' his open luif that near ca'd him on his back. In his stagger his feet tickled amon' his claes, an' he gaithered them up, an' lookit fair dumfoondered like.
"Ay, he's in," says I; "but you shud mind an' gie fowk their richt names when ye're seeking them. Ye micht hae smeddum enough to say Mester Bowden, or Alexander Bowden. Your teacher michta tell't ye that." I gaed awa' doon the yaird to get Sandy, an' juist as I was gaen oot at the back door I heard ane o' the sackets sayin', "What's she chatterin' aboot?
If there's a crank wey o' doin' onything Sandy will find it oot. For years he reg'larly flang the stable key ower the gate efter he'd brocht oot Donal' an' the cairt. When he landit hame again, he climbed the gate for the key, an' syne climbed ower again an' opened it frae the ootside. He michta carried the key in his pooch; but onybody cudda dune that! But, as I was sayin', it's juist his wey.
"If it hadna been for the lid o' the water-barrel gien wey yon nicht, you michta been skelpin' Dossie's bairns the day an' your ain too." We a' took a hearty lauch at Ribekka's ootburst. "Eh, that was a pliskie," said Mistress Kenawee. "Dossie got a gey drookin' that nicht.
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