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Talking of GOMERALS, do tell DAUVIT BALFOUR. I would I could see the face of him at the thought of a long-legged lass in such a predicament; to say nothing of the levities of your affectionate daughter, and his respectful friend. So my rascal signs herself!" continued Prestongrange. "And you see, Mr.
It was juist upo' the stroke o' nine o'clock, an' I was juist noo dune shuttin' the shop. The door was aff the snib; an', keep me, when I lookit in, here's Sandy wi' an Oddfella's kilt an' a bushbie on, an' his ilky-day's claes lyin' in a pozel on the table. I kent the kilt whenever I saw't; it was the ane Dauvit Kenawee wears in the Oddfellas' processions.
She shook her head. "I never heard a note of it," said she. "Whistle it all through. And now once again," she added, after I had done so. "Haenae I got just the lilt of it? Isnae this the tune that ye whustled?" "You see," she says, "I can do the poetry too, only it won't rhyme. And then again: "I am Miss Grant, sib to the Advocate: You, I believe, are Dauvit Balfour."
"I really have no idea," said Mr. Blake. "What was it?" "'Div ye think, says I, lookin' fair at him, 'div ye think I tak Dauvit for a paittern? and it did for him. 'I'll hae to be gaein', says he, 'I hae a funeral. 'Aye, says I, 'ye'd better hae a funeral' an' we haena spoken to ane anither since." "That's a pity," said Mr.
No that I would preen my faith to that clink neither; but it's bonny, and easier to mind. "Who go to sea in ships," they hae't again And in Great waters trading be, Within the deep these men God's works And His great wonders see. Weel, it's easy sayin' sae. Maybe Dauvit wasnae very weel acquant wi' the sea.
Talking of gomerils, do tell Dauvit Balfour. I would I could see the face of him at the thought of a long-legged lass in such a predicament! to say nothing of the levities of your affectionate daughter, and his respectful friend. So my rascal signs herself!" continued Prestongrange. "And you see, Mr.
"Maister Dauvit Balfour is informed a friend was speiring for him, and her eyes were of the grey," it ran and seemed so extraordinary a piece to come to my hands at such a moment and under cover of a Government seal, that I stood stupid. Catriona's grey eyes shone in my remembrance. I thought, with a bound of pleasure, she must be the friend.
She shook her head. "I never heard a note of it," said she. "Whistle it all through. And now once again," she added, after I had done so. "Haena I got just the lilt of it? Isna this the tune that ye whustled? "You see," she says, "I can do the poetry too, only it won't rhyme. And then again: "I am Miss Grant, sib to the Advocate: You, I believe, are Dauvit Balfour."
But, troth, if it wasnae prentit in the Bible, I wad whiles be temp'it to think it wasnae the Lord, but the muckle, black deil that made the sea. There's naething good comes oot o't but the fish; an' the spentacle o' God riding on the tempest, to be shure, whilk would be what Dauvit was likely ettling at. But, man, they were sair wonders that God showed to the Christ-Anna wonders, do I ca' them?
It's standin' cauld and lanely and steikit, and it aince the cheeriest dwallin' in a' Carrick." Mrs. Morran's tone grew tragic. "It's a queer warld wi'out the auld gentry. My faither and my guidsire and his faither afore him served the Kennedys, and my man Dauvit Morran was gemkeeper to them, and afore I mairried I was ane o' the table-maids.
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