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'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.
Wha's claes can they be? 'Wha's but mine? returned Kirsty, as she stooped to remove from his face the garment that covered his head. 'The Lord preserve 's! to the verra stockins upo' the han's o' 'm! 'I had no dreid, father, o' the Lord seem me as he made me! 'Lassie, cried David, with heartfelt admiration, 'ye sud hae been dother til a field-mershall.
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