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Updated: June 7, 2025
But ye'll mak allooance, my lady; for ye hae a true hert, an' maun ken 'at whan a wuman sees a man beirin' a'thing as gien it was naething,'maist like a God, no kennin' he's duin' onything by or'nar, she can no more help loein' him nor the mither 'at bore her, or the God 'at made her.
"Ay," responded Malcolm; "but there's a richt an' a wrang time for the telling' o' 't. It's no as gien I had had han' or tongue in ony foregane lee. It was naething o' my duin', as ye ken, mem. To mysel', I was never onything but a fisherman born.
"Weel, cam I no by the tarn o' the tap o' Stieve Know?" "What on earth was ye duin' there efter dark, Grizzie?" "What was I duin'? I saidna I was there efter dark, but the cratur micht hae seen me pass weel eneueh. Wasna I ower the hill to my ain fowk i' the How o' Hap? An' didna I come hame by Luck's Lift?
'What's wha duin', laddie? returned his grandmother, curtly. 'They're takin' 't doon. 'Takin' what doon? she returned, with raised voice. 'Takin' doon the hoose. The old woman rose. 'Robert, ye may hae spite in yer hert for what I hae dune this mornin', but I cud do no ither.
I wad hae been up and awa lang syne gien it hadna been for them! 'And what wud hae been comin o' hiz wantin ye, Steenie? 'Ye wad be duin sae weel wantin me, 'at ye wud be aye wantin to be up and efter me! A body's feet's nae doobt usefu to hand a body steady, and ohn gane blawin aboot, but eh, they're unco cummarsum! But syne they're unco guid tu to hand a body ohn thoucht owre muckle o' himsel!
She had almost turned and fled. 'It's only me, Steenie! she faltered, nearly crying. Steenie stood and stared trembling. Neither, for a moment or two, could speak. 'Eh, Steenie, said Kirsty at length, 'I'm richt sorry I disapp'intit ye! I didna ken what I was duin. I oucht to hae turnt and gane hame again! 'Ye cudna help it, answered Steenie. 'Ye cudna be him, or ye wud!
But I'm ready to hear ye tell me my duty; I'm no past reasonin wi'! 'Did ye never hear 'at ye're to lo'e yer neebour as yersel? 'I'm duin that wi' a' my hert, Kirsty and that ye ken as weel as I du mysel! 'Ye mean me, Francie! And ye ca' that lo'in me, to wull me merry a man 'at 's no a man ava! But it's nae me 'at 's yer neebour, Francie! 'Wha is my neebour, Kirsty?
"Gien the auld man be i' the richt, it'll be the marchioness hersel' 'at's h'ard o' the ill duin's o' her factor, an's comin' to see efter her fowk! An' it'll be Ma'colm's duin', an' that'll be seen. Sae ye maun some o' ye to the pier-heid, an' luik oot to gie 'im warnin'." Her own husband was the first to start, proud of the foresight of his wife.
"It's the richt thing ony gait." "You presume on this foolish report about you, I suppose, MacPhail," said his lordship; "but that won't do." "God forgie ye, my lord, for I hae ill duin' 't!" He left them and walked down to the foamy lip of the tide, which was just waking up from its faint recession.
"You're here to do what I tell you, and make no remarks," added the factor. "I'm awaur o' that, sir within certain leemits," returned Malcolm. "What do you mean by that?" "I mean within the leemits o' duin' by yer neibor as ye wad ha'e yer neibor du by you that's what I mean, sir." "I've told you already that doesn't apply in horse dealing.
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