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But a wilfu' man maun have his way, he repeated; 'so, sir, if it be your wull, ye'd better speak to the bairn, for we must make a blackamoor of him while there is licht to do it, or Bekir, whom I dinna lippen to, comes back frae the feast.
It's sic a faithless kin' o' a w'y that! I could jist fancy I saw her gaein' a' roon' the trees o' a simmer nicht, pittin' hiney upo' the peers an' the peaches, 'cause she cudna lippen to natur' to ripe them sweet eneuch only 'at she wad never tak the hiney frae the bees. She's jist the pictur' o' Natur' hersel' turnt some dementit.
"About twenty miles to the nor'ward, to a bit hamlet, thae call Dron Point." "What kind of a woman is she, David? I hope she is kind and pleasant." "We can hope sae, sir; but I really dinna expect it. Aunt Janet had a bad name wi' us, when we were bairns, but bairns' judgment isn't to lippen to." "I think it is. If you have any fear about Aunt Janet being good to live with, don't go for her."
"It's nae ceremony the day, ye may lippen tae it; it's the hert brocht the fouk, an' ye can see it in their faces; ilka man hes his ain reason, an' he's thinkin' on't though he's speakin' o' naethin' but the storm; he's mindin' the day Weelum pued him out frae the jaws o' death, or the nicht he savit the gude wife in her oor o' tribble.
"No more honest skipper in the trade than Eli," said the clerk. "I would lippen to Eli's word ay, if it was the Chevalier, or Appin himsel'," he added. "And it was him that brought the doctor, wasna't?" asked the master. "He was the very man," said the clerk. "And I think he took the doctor back?" says Stewart. "Ay, with his sporran full!" cried Robin. "And Eli kennt of that!"
'A gude-hertit crater, but ye cudna lippen till him. 'Speyk nae ill o' the deid. Maybe they'll hear ye, and turn roon' i' their coffins, and that'll whumle you i' your beds, said MacGregor, with a twinkle in his eye. 'Ring the bell for anither tum'ler, Sampson, said the chairman. 'What'll be dune wi' that factory place, noo? It'll be i' the market? 'It's been i' the market for mony a year.
The child eagerly opened one of the volumes, and glanced at a page: It sparkled with the right ore of ballad-words. The Red, the colour always of delight, grew in her face. She closed the book as if she could not trust herself to look at it while others were looking at her, and said with a sigh: "Eh, mem! Ye wonna lippen them baith to me?" "Yes, I will," said Miss Cowie.
I think it maun be that, haein' nae feelin's o' my ain, I hae ower muckle regaird to ither fowk's, an' sae I never likit to pit her awa' wi'oot doonricht provocation. But dinna ye lippen to Jean, Malcolm na, na!
Ye may lippen tae 't, a' wesna five and thirty year wi' Maister MacWheep for naethin'. "He wes a wee fractious and self-willed at the off-go, an' wud be wantin' this an' that for his denner, but he sune learned tae tak' what wes pit afore him; an' as for gaein' oot withoot tellin' me, he wud as sune hae thocht o' fleein'; when he cam' in he keepit naethin' back at his tea.
A touch of more than Arctic cold stole upon her, even through this loveliness of a summer night; she felt desperately unhappy and alone. From the saloon came a sound of singing: "An die Lippen wollt' ich pressen Deine kleine weisse Hand, Und mit Thränen sie benetzen Deine kleine weisse Hand." The tears came to her eyes.
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