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Updated: May 18, 2025
If I'm no mista'en that'll be the end o' Sandy's Toon Cooncillin'; an' time till't, I think. The man's no' wyse to think aboot ony sic thing. Perfeckly ridic'lous! Sandy an' me were oot the Sands enjoyin' a bit walk juist yesterday efternune, an' we were dreedfu' quiet. There didna appear to be onything to speak aboot ava.
"Mine boy, have he comin' back?" asked Mrs Winklemann, who was awakened by the conversation. "Na; he's no come back yet, but he'll be here afore lang, nae doot. Be quiet noo, like guid bairns. I canna let yer legs doon yet, for the floor's dreedfu' wat.
We'd been argeyin' that muckle aboot eternity, that we'd forgotten aboot the time a'thegither. I'll swag, mind ye, but the men's no' far wrang when they say that weemin have most dreedfu' lang tongues. Dod, mind ye, but it's ower troo; it's ower troo!
Aw connot stur a fut fur folks as knaws mo, and knaws mo name, and knaws what aw be after. Lonnon is a dreedfu' plaze. Aw mun geet mo lass to whoam. Yo'll mind th' shop till th' maister cooms back. War. You'd better stop. The man will be back directly. You're too suspicious. Tho. Nea, maister, thae'rt wrung theer. Aw've trusted too mich a theawsand times too mich. War.
Gin I got on the paidmint, I was slippin' here an' there like some lassie on the skeetchin' pond, till doon I skaikit, skloit on the braid o' my back, an' left my life-size engravin' i' the middle o' the road. Eh, it was a gude thing I didna hae on my best frock! I shiftit at tea-time, for thae gutters mak' sic a dreedfu' mairter o' a body.
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