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Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! But though ye canna behaud, birdie, Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! I'm noucht but a herplin herdie, But I hae a sang i' my breist!
And he was clever at his books tae, a graund scholar, they said, and ettlin' at bein' what they ca' a dipplemat, But that' a' bye wi'." "Quentin Kennedy the fellow in the Tins?" Heritage asked. "I saw him in Rome when he was with the Mission." "I dinna ken. He was a brave sodger, but he wasna long fechtin' in France till he got a bullet in his breist.
She now proceeded to hold .his hand, patting it tenderly, while she murmured 'brave lad' over and over again, to his exquisite embarrassment. 'But ye'll bate the nesty Rooshians, dearie I meant for to say the Prooshians, Christina an' ye'll come marchin' hame a conductor or an inspector, or whatever they ca' it, wi' medals on yer breist an' riches in yer purse
Na, na, my son! gien I hae ony pooer to read the trowth o' things, the life 'at's gien is no taen; an' whatever come o' the cratur, the love it waukent in a human breist,'ill no more be lost than the objec' o' the same.
His face showed how gunkit he was. Oh, but he was chawed. I saw his breist give the great heave." "Were ye no sorry?" cried the baker. "Thorry, hi!" laughed the Deacon. "Oh, I was thorry, to be sure," he lisped, "but I didna thyow't. I'm glad to thay I've a grand control of my emotionth. Not like thum folk we know of," he added slyly, giving the baker a "good one."
Crossing the rugged waste to a distant cairn, they sat down upon the stones, and Pete filled his pipe from Foster's pouch. "Ye'll haud east until ye find a burn that will lead ye doon to the road; then as ye cross the breist o' a fell ye'll see the reek o' Hawick," he said and added after a pause: "Maybe ye'll no' be stopping in the town?" "I'll stay the night.
It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie That's hoo there's a how i' my breist; It's awa' doon there wi' my Willie, Gaed wi' him whan he was releast; It's doon i' the green-grown hillie, But I s' be efter it neist. Come awa', nichts and mornin's, Come ooks, years, a' time's clan; Ye're walcome ayont a' scornin': Tak me till him as fest as ye can.
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