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Updated: May 12, 2025
It was Sandy's turn noo; an' efter Dauvid Kenawee, auld Geordie Steel, an' Moses Certricht had gotten the chairman pu'd oot o' the butter kit, an' on to the boiler-heid again, Sandy raise ooten his seat wi' a look on his face like a nicht watchman.
"Gie me up some o' thae slides in the green box," he cries to Nathan. "Whaur hae ye putten the Provosts an' the Bailies?" "I have them a' in my breeks' pooch," says Nathan. "They're a' richt." "An' whaur's the drunkard's liver?" "O, I laid it on the boiler-heid, alang wi' Danyil an' some mair." "See an' no' be mixin' them than," said Sandy, shovin' in another slide.
"Hear, hear," said a' the rest; an' wi' that Bandy got up on the boiler-heid on his belly, an' turnin' roond, sat wi' the legs o' him hingin' ower the front o' the boiler, juist like a laddie sittin' on the dyke at the Common. Watty Finlay, the weaver, shuved anower a tume butter kit for Bandy to set his feet on, an' then a'body sat quiet, juist like's something was genna happen.
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