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Pottie gaed apung ower the barrow again, an' sat doon on the tap o' the Gairner, wha was busy gaitherin' up his gudes. "Come awa', Bawbie," says Dauvid, takin' a haud o' my airm, "Sandy 'ill turn up yet." So awa' we gaed, leavin' the fower or five o' them wammlin' awa' amon' the cabbitch, juist like what swine generally do when they get in amon' a gairner's stocks.
I'M BLEST IF HE DIDN'T BRING MASTER A PLATE OF CABBITCH! Would you bleave it, that now, in the nineteenth sentry, when they say there's schoolmasters abroad, these stewpid French jackasses are so extonishingly ignorant as to call a CABBIDGE a SHOO! Never, never let it be said, after this, that these benighted, souperstitious, misrabble SAVIDGES, are equill, in any respex, to the great Brittish people.
When he got himsel' gaithered oot amon' the peycods an' cabbitch, he was genna be at me, but Dauvid Kenawee stappit forrit, an' says he, "Saira ye richt, ye gude-for-naething snipe 'at ye are. Lift a hand till her, an' I'll ca' the chafts o' ye by ither." "What bisness hae you shuvin' your nose in?" says Pottie Lawson. "There was naebody middlin' wi' you."
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