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"'What mak ye here in sic a storm, man? he said. An' the soon' o' his v'ice was aye safter nor the words o' his mooth. "'I come for a lamb, answered he. "'What kin' o' a lamb? askit the stranger. "'The verra best I can lay my han's upo' i' the cot, answered he, 'for it's to lay afore my freens and neebours. I houp, sir, ye'll come hame wi' me an' share o' 't. Ye s' be welcome.
Sae, whan they tuik themsels there, the freens o' the bonny man wud fill ane o' the roomies, and stan' awa in ilk ane o' the passages 'at gaed frae 't; and that w'y, though there cudna mony o' them see ane anither at ance, a gey lottie wud hear, some a', and some a hantle o' what was said. For there they cud speyk lood oot, and a body abune hear naething and suspec naething.
"I am no just exactly what ye would ca' an extremist for the law," says he, "at the best of times; but in this business I act with a good warranty." "What are you going to do with me?" I asked. "Nae harm," said he, "nae harm ava'. Ye'll have strong freens, I'm thinking. Ye'll be richt eneuch yet."
"Ma brither," said the Factor, "we are auld freens; it is weel that we shud staun' thegither. If ye will trade a' yir furs wi' me this day, I'll get the meenister o' the Presybyterian Kirk tae mairry yir gran'dochter. He'll be gled eneuch tae gi'e Father Jois a dour by mairryin' twa o' his fowk. Sell me yir furs, an' I'll warrant ye ye'll hae the laff on Father Jois." That settled it.
To think o' Ma'colm MacPhail turnin' his back upo' them 'at's been freens wi' 'im sin ever he was a wee loonie, rinnin' aboot in coaties!" "Hoot, man! what's gotten intill yer heid?" returned his wife. "It's no Ma'colm; it's the illwully factor. Bide ye till he comes till 's ain, an' Maister Crathie 'll hae to lauch o' the wrang side o' 's mou'."
"But the warl' maun wag, though the hert may sag; an' whan the deid lies streekit, there's a hoose to be theekit. An' the freens an' the neebours gatithert frae near an' frae far, till there was a heap o' fowk i' the hoose, come to the beeryin' o' the bonny bairn.
'Man, ye're the kind o' lad I like, said one of the rough customers. 'A' freens! said Merton, again applying himself to the bottle, and passing it. 'Ony ither gentleman tak' a sook? asked Merton, including all the passengers in his hospitable glance. 'Nane o' ye dry? 'Oh! fill yer ain glass, And let the jug pass, Hoo d'ye ken but yer neighbour's dry? Merton carolled.
I' the church-cellar, sir first bin over the left feeds musty, and smells strong. Ho! ho! ho! THOMAS makes a dart. BILL dodges him. First Boy. Ain't he a cricket now, Tommy? Second Boy. Got one leg too many for a cricket, Sam. Third Boy. That's what he jerks hisself with, Tommy. Tho. Boys, I want to be freens wi' yo. Here's a penny. One of the boys knocks it out of his hand. A scramble. Tho.
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