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"An' ye think I'm gang to broil an ould hen for a spring chicken in peace and quietness, ye're a' wrong. An' then to send that dour nagur a speerin' roun' among my fowl that I've raised from babies I'll na ston it. I'll gang, I'll gang, but ye'll greet after the ould 'ooman for a' o' that."

"You spoke kind like to me when me heart was fit to break, and it's meself will stand by you and take care of ye, too, as if ye was the greatest lady in the land, as ye might be, for I knows very well that the likes of ye has nought to do with the likes of me; an' if them spalpeens dares to come round a speerin' at ye, it's meself will shovel out their eyes with me nails. I know 'em.

No, says A' says our young hero 'no, says he, 'he has a distinguished audience as like as not. "Speerin' ower the side an' fixin' his expensive glasses on the groon, he espied sax motor-cars " The door was flung open and Blackie came in hurriedly. "Tam get up," he said briefly. "All the damn circuses are out on a strafe and we're It von Bissing, von Rheinhoff, and von Wentzl.

"What is your name, my man?" he enquired. "Ma name is Malcolm McNish. 'A doot ye have na har-r-d it. But the name maitters little. It's the question 'A'm speerin' asking at ye." Here was no amateur in the business of Grievance Committees. His manner was that of a self-respecting man dealing with a fellow-man on terms of perfect equality.

"Hoo d' ye kin I'll be at the T'nowhead the nicht?" he asked, grinning in anticipation. "Ou, I'se warrant ye'll be after Bell," said Eppie. "Am no sae sure o' that," said Sam'l, trying to leer. He was enjoying himself now. "Am no sure o' that," he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches. "Sam'l!" "Ay." "Ye'll be speerin' her sune noo, I dinna doot?"

There's nae risk ava, man nane to speak o'. Tak' her, laddie; tak' her, Sanders; it's a gran' chance, Sanders. She's yours for the speerin'. I'll gie her up, Sanders." "Will ye, though?" said Sanders. "What d' ye think?" asked Sam'l. "If ye wid rayther," said Sanders, politely. "There's my han' on 't," said Sam'l. "Bless ye, Sanders; ye've been a true frien' to me."

I'm no easy feared, but maybe your ain bluid would run a bit cauld, mun, if instead o' speerin' aboot it in daylicht ye were wi' me last night, an' seed an awfu' like shape, white an' gruesome, whiles here, whiles there, an' it greetin' and ca'ing in the darkness like a bit lambie that hae lost its mither.

An' Frances were hangin' aboot y'r pillow, lad, I'm nae sure y'd be up sae dapper and smart." "I thought my nurse was to return when I was able to be up," I answered, strolling to the cottage door. "Come back frae the door, lad. Dinna show y'rsel' tae the enemy. There be more speerin' for ye than hae love for y'r health. Have y'r wits aboot ye! Dinna be frettin' y'rsel' for Frances!

He had almost completed an impression of her head against the sky, with a flying veil lifting above it, when a shadow fell across the canvas, and the voice of McEwan blared out a pleased greeting. "Weel, here ye are!" exclaimed that mountain of tweed, lowering himself onto a huge iron cleat between which and the bulwarks the two were sitting cross-legged. "I was speerin' where ye'd both be."

Wad they but put half the cleverness into honest toil that they do into writin' me a letter or speerin' a tale o' was to wring my heart, they could earn a' the siller they micht need for themselves. In ma time I've helped many a yin. And whiles I've been sorry, I've been impressed by an honest tale o' sorrow and distress. I've gi'en its teller what he asked, or what I thocht he needed.