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"Weel, what for no? Is a shillin' no a saxpence?" "Ay, sir. It's twa." "Weel, Annie," said the old man, suddenly elevated into prophecy for the child's need for he had premeditated nothing of the sort "maybe whan God offers us a saxpence, it may turn oot to be twa. Good nicht, my bairn." But Mr Cowie was sorely dissatisfied with himself.
"I canna I dinna ken them noo," replied Donal. "Oh, Donal! are those lovely words gone altogether for ever? Shall I not hear them again?" "I'll try to min' upo' them whan I gang hame," he said. "I canna the noo. I can think o' naething but ae thing." "And what is that, Donal?" "Yersel'," answered Donal.
And syne whan the pain cam' back wi' a terrible stoon, I jist amaist leuch; an I thoucht that gin he wad brack me a' to bits, I wad never cry haud, nor turn my finger to gar him stent. Noo, ye're ane o' the Lord's bairns " "Eh! I dinna ken," cried Annie, half-terrified at such an assurance from Thomas, and the responsibility devolved on her thereby, and yet delighted beyond expression.
'Thrivin', answered Robert, falling into his humour. 'Weel, that's verra weel. Duv ye min', Robert, hoo, whan ye was aboot the age o' aucht year aul', ye cam to me ance at my shop aboot something yer gran'mither, honest woman, wantit, an' I, by way o' takin' my fun o' ye, said to ye, "Robert, ye hae grown desperate; ye're a man clean; ye hae gotten the breeks on." An' says ye, "Ay, Mr.
For isna it the bonny day whan the Lord wad hae us sit doon and ait wi himsel, wha made the h'avens and the yirth, and the waters under the yirth that haud it up! And wilna he, upo this day, at the last gran' merridge-feast, poor oot the bonny reid wine, and say, 'Sit ye doon, bairns, and tak o' my best'!" "Ay, ay, Mr.
It's all in the speerit. Whan ye see't ye'll ken't. There's no fear o' mistakin' that." Teacher and scholar were silent. Annie was the first to speak. She had gained her quest. "Am I to gang hame noo, Thomas?" "Ay, gang hame, lassie, to yer prayers. But I doobt it's dark. I'll gang wi' ye. Jean, my shune!" "Na, na; I could gang hame blinlins," remonstrated Annie. "Haud yer tongue.
"The thresher's weary flinging-tree The lee-lang day had tired me: And whan the day had closed his e'e, Far i' the west, Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, I gaed to rest." Queechy was reached at night. Fleda had promised herself to be off almost with the dawn of light the next morning to see aunt Miriam, but a heavy rain kept her fast at home the whole day.
"It's the yoong laird!" said Aggie, and stopped. "What's come till 'im?" asked the laird, in the sharpened tone of anxiety. "It's no muckle, he says himsel'. But his heid's some sair yet." "What maks his heid sair? He was weel eneuch whan he gaed this mornin'." "The maister knockit 'im doon." The laird started as if one had struck him in the face.
'What is that? asked Ericson, not sorry to be persuaded that there might after all be some merit in the productions painfully despised of himself. 'Jist this: it's only whan ye dinna want to fa' asleep 'at it luiks fearsome to ye.
"Ye took me to Truro against ma wull, for why did I want to gang to a place that I never heard o' afore; so, then, ye'll tak' me back to Halifax again, wullin' or no, an' whan I get my money back I'll sen' ye the price o' the drive.
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