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Gin ye kent hoo I lie awauk at nicht, no able to sleep for thinkin' 'at the day will come whan I'll see wi' my ain open een the verra face o' him that bore oor griefs an' carried oor sorrows, till I jist lie and greit, for verra wissin', ye wadna say 'at I dinna ken what the sicht o' a body's een is. Sae nae mair o' that!
"Arena ye some wissin' ye hadna taen muckle mair yersel, Peter?" "'Deed am I! But gien he be giftit like that ye say, what for didna he try to haud 's richt?" "Maybe he thoucht ye wad mak yer mistaks better wantin' him." "Weel, ye dinna ca' that freenly!" "What for no? I hae h'ard him say fowk canna come richt 'cep' by haein' room to gang wrang. But jist ye gang till him noo.
She's ministerin' to them 'at hae mony preeviledges nae doot, but hae room for mair." "I'm no saying naething," said Bruce. "Ye are sayin'. Ye're offendin' ane o' his little anes. Tak ye tent o' the millstane." "Hoot toot! Tibbie. I was only wissin 'at she wad keep a sma' part o' her ministrations for her ain hame and her ain fowk 'at has the ministerin' to her.
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