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But I'm ready to hear ye tell me my duty; I'm no past reasonin wi'! 'Did ye never hear 'at ye're to lo'e yer neebour as yersel? 'I'm duin that wi' a' my hert, Kirsty and that ye ken as weel as I du mysel! 'Ye mean me, Francie! And ye ca' that lo'in me, to wull me merry a man 'at 's no a man ava! But it's nae me 'at 's yer neebour, Francie! 'Wha is my neebour, Kirsty?
Francie, Francie, i' the name o' yer father I beg ye to regaird the richts o' the neebour ye sit upo'. Gien ye dinna that, ye'll come or lang to think little o' yer human neebour as weel, carin only for what ye get oot o' 'im! A voice inside Francis took part with the old man, and made him yet angrier.
Aih, Francie, I doobt something a heap waur 'll hae to come upo' ye! A' my labour's lost, and I dearly grudge it no the labour, but the loss o' 't! I grudge that sair. 'Kirsty, i' the name o' God, wha is my neebour? 'Yer ain mither. 'My ain mither! her oot o' a' the warl'? I never cam upo' spark o' rizzon intil her!
I dinna ken vera muckle about them though, but the auldest fouk said they were just byous wi' cruelty. Mony a good man did they hing up i' their ha', just for their ain sport; ye'll see the ring to the fore yet in the roof o 't. Did ye never hear o' Mauns' Stane, neebour?" "Mauns' what?" said I. "Ou, Mauns' Stane. But it's no likely.
"An' what wad ye ca' the best use, father?" "Whatever maks o' a man a neebour. A true life efter God's notion is the sairest bash to Sawtan. To gie yer siller to ither fowk to spread is to jink the wark laid oot for ye. I' the meantime hadna ye better beery yer deid again? They maun lie i' the dark, like human sowls, till they're broucht to du the deeds o' licht."
Is Satan to grip her 'cause ye winna be neebour til her and hand him aff o' her? I ken ye're a guid son sae far as lat her du as she likes and tak 'maist a' the siller, but that's what greases the exle o' the cairt the deevil's gotten her intil! I ken weel she hesna been muckle o' a mither til ye, but ye're her son whan a' 's said.
"Brawly, my lord; there's naething muckle the maitter wi' hit or me aither, noo 'at we're up. But I was jist nearhan' deid o' ower muckle bed." "Had n't you better come down out of that cockloft?" said the marquis, dropping his eyes. "Na, my lord; I dinna care aboot pairtin' wi' my neebour yet." "What neighbour?" "What! is he troublesome next? "Ow, na!
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!
"Ye speired for news o' your cousin an' I find he's a neebour o' yours; ca'd to a new kirk i' the city o' your captivity an' na stickit minister he makes, forbye he's ane o' these new Puseyite sectarians, to judge by your uncle's report.
"I thank ye frae mine," answered Malcolm, and again they shook hands. "But eh, Ma'colm, my man!" said the factor, "hoo will I ever shaw my face again?" "Fine that!" returned Malcolm, eagerly. "Fowk's terrible guid natur'd whan ye alloo 'at ye're i' the wrang. I do believe 'at whan a man confesses till 's neebour, an' says he's sorry, he thinks mair o' 'im nor afore he did it.
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