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Updated: June 10, 2025
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."
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.
You never saw sic a scramblin' an' fleein'. Stumpie Merlin dived in ablo the sofa, an' Dauvid Kenawee jumpit up on the boiler, an' aff wi' the lid for a shield. Pottie was gaen bang oot at the door when Sandy grippit him by the cuff o' the neck.
'I wudna be dother til a king! returned Kirsty. 'Gien I bed to be born again, I wudna be born 'cep it was to Dauvid Barclay. 'My ain lassie! murmured her father. 'But, eh, he added, interrupting his own thoughts, 'we maun hand oor tongues till we've dune the thing we're sent to du! They bent at once to their task. David was a strong man still, and Kirsty was as good at a lift as most men.
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.
"Juist you look efter your ain fokis, Bandy," says Sandy, gey peppery weys, "an' lat ither fowk's fokises aleen." "Are ye share you're richt wi' the picture?" Dauvid Kenawee speered. "There's naething wrang wi' the picture," says Sandy. "Ye see that kind o' a broon bit doon at the fit there? That's ane o' Danyil's feet."
'Haud to that, Dauvid, and hand me till't: we kenna what's comin! 'The wull o' God's comin, insisted David. 'But eh, he added, 'I'm concernt for puir Maister Craig! 'Weel, lat's awa hame and see whether the twa bena there afore 's! Eh, but the sicht o' the bonny corp maun hae gien Steenie a sair hert! I wudna won'er gien he never wan ower't i' this life!
Ye daurna say he didna du his best for her here, and wull he no du his best for her there as weel? 'Doobtless, Dauvid! But ye fricht me! It souns jist rank papistry naither mair nor less! What can he du? He canna dee again for ane 'at wudna turn til 'im i' this life! The thing's no to be thoucht! 'Hoo ken ye that, wuman? Ye hae jist thoucht it yersel!
Sen' him to me, and I'll persuaud him. Dauvid, man, ye'll hae to saiddle and ride; the doctor maun gang wi' ye straught to Steenie's hoose. 'Lat me up, said David, making a motion to free himself of the bedclothes. Kirsty went, and got some milk to make it hot. But when she reached the kitchen, Steenie was not there, and the fire, which he had tried to wake up, was all but black.
No but I wud sair like to be bonny bonny like him, Kirsty! Did ye ever hear tell 'at he had a father? I h'ard a man ance say 'at he bed. Sic a bonny man as that father maun be! Jist think o' his haein a son like him! Dauvid Barclay maun be richt sair disappintit wi' sic a son as me and him sic a man himsel! What for is't, Kirsty?
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