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Updated: June 28, 2025
I gave you your choice, sure enough. 'Coom an' live wi' me i' Hustler's Court, I said, 'an' help me wi' t' ready-made work, or else you can find a place for yourself 'i Thirsk Workhouse." "Aye, I've had my choice, Mary, but it's gey hard tewin' all t' day at button-holes, when September's set in and I think on t' corn-harvist."
"Ye see, the bridge hes been shakin' wi' this winter's flood, and we daurna venture on it, sae we hev tae ford, and the snaw's been meltin' up Urtach way. There's nae doot the water's gey big, and it's threatenin' tae rise, but we 'ill win through wi' a warstle.
I promised the bairn I would lat Francie ken whaur she was, and gie him the chance o' sayin his say til her. 'Verra weel, lassie! ye ken what ye're aboot, and I s' no interfere wi' ye. But, eh, ye'll be tired afore ye win to yer bed! 'I'll no tramp it, mother; I'll tak the gray mear. 'She's gey and fresh, lassie; ye maun be on yer guaird. 'A' the better! returned Kirsty.
And there's a gey bit ground at the back, too, when a body comes to think o't." "What line's he meaning to purshoo?" queried Brodie, whose mind, quickened by the chance he saw at No. 1 The Cross, was hot on the hunt of its possibilities. "He's been very close about that," said the Provost. "I asked Johnny Gibson it was him had the selling o't but he couldn't give me ainy satisfaction.
"I'm a gey auld-farrant-looking dear, I doubt," said Nanny, ruefully. "Now, Nanny," rejoined Babbie, "you are just wanting me to flatter you. You know the merino looks very nice." "It's a guid merino yet," admitted the old woman, "but, oh, Babbie, what does the material matter if the cut isna fashionable? It's fine, isn't it, to be in the fashion?"
But I wud fain be what he wud hae me, jist as ye wud yersel. Sae ye maun tak me, what I am, for his sake, Steenie! This was the man's hour, not the dog's, yet Steenie threw himself at her feet. 'Gang oot a bit by yersel, Steenie, she said, caressing him with her hand. 'That's what ye'll like best, I ken! Ye needna min' me! I only cam to see ye sattlet intil yer ain hoose. I'll bide a gey bit.
'Wait till he has gone for his walk, said my mother; 'and, forbye that, I'm ower old to dance with you. 'How old are you? he inquired. 'You're gey an' pert! cried my mother. 'Are you seventy? 'Off and on, she admitted. 'Pooh, he said, 'a mere girl!
There's neen o' you loons 'ill mind o' the meal mobs," said Sandy, "but I mind o' them fine. A gey toon it was i' thae days. You'll notice the auld Toon-Clark i' the middle there, wi' his hands up, threatenin' to send for the pileece, an' a' the crood yalpin' at him like as mony dogs.
Down below them they saw the dark little tarn, the Kelpie's Pool. It was very clear, but dark, with a bottom of peat. Around it grew rushes and a few low willows. The two sat upon an outcropping of stone and gazed down upon it. "It's a gey lonely place," said Alexander. "Now I like it as well or better than I do the cave, and now I would leave it far behind me!" "I like the cave best.
"Ay!" said Nicie, "it wad be a gey cheenged warl' gien fowk gaed to my mither, an' did as she wad hae them. She says fowk sud never tell but the ill they ken o' themsel's, an' the guid they ken o' ither fowk; an' that's jist the contrar', ye ken, missie, to what fowk maistly dis dee." A pause naturally followed, which Ginny broke.
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