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"We daurna fling 't i' the fire. "Na, na. Lat ye 't sit," returned Mr Cupples. "I wad be clean affrontit gin I cudna see and forbear. Ye may jist pit it into the press though. A body needna lay burdens grievous to be borne upo' himsel' mair nor upo' ither fowk. Noo, lat's hae a game o' cribbage, to haud's ohn thocht aboot it." They played two or three games.
Mr Forbes, ye maun jist come doon wi' me; for he winna haud's tongue's lang's ye're there. I'll jist mak' a cup o' tay till him." "Tay, guidwife! Deil slocken himsel' wi yer tay! Gie me a sook o' the tappit hen." "'Deed, Mr Cupples, ye s' hae neither sook nor sipple o' that spring." "Ye rigwiddie carlin!" grinned the patient. "Gin ye dinna haud yer tongue, I'll gang for the doctor."
You see, I believe in you, my man." "Thanky, moster. I'll wuck fer yer haud's I kin. Please God, I'll sarve yer faithful." "Of cou'se, Lizay, you'll go back to pickin' cotton, an' don't let me hear any mo' of you' nonsense helpin' a strappin' fellow twice you' size. An' tell Buck I won't have him whippin' any my negroes ev'ry night in the week. Confound it! a mule couldn't stan' it.
"I'll pick all I kin," said Alston: "I wuckt haud's I could ter-day." "Ef yer don't hush yer lyin' mouth I'll cut yer heart out." Alston went from the gin-loft, his blood tingling. On the sunning-scaffold he encountered Little Lizay. She had been listening had heard all that had passed between the two men. She went down the scaffold-steps, and Alston came soon after.
Eh, but we're helpless creturs!" "I' your w'y, Grizzie, ye wad keep us as helpless as ever, for ye wad hae a' thing hauden to oor han', like to the bairnie in his mither's lap! It's o' the mercy o' the Lord 'at he wad mak men an' women o' 's no haud's bairns for ever!" "It may be as ye say, Cosmo; but whiles I cud maist wuss I was a bairn again, an' had to luik to my mither for a' thing."
She waited for him, and they walked to the "quarter" together. "It's mighty haud, ain't it?" she said. "I believe he tol' a lie 'bout my baskit. Anyhow, I wuckt haud's I could ter-day. I can't pick no hunderd poun's uv the flimpsy stuff. He'll have ter cowhide me: I don't kere."
Look yere, Mos' Hawton: when I come on yer plantation I made up my min' ter sarve yer faithful ter wuck fer yer haud's I could ter strike ev'ry lick I could fer yer. When I hoed cawn an' pulled fodder I went 'head er all the han's on yer plantation. But when I went ter pick cotton I wusn't use ter it. I wuckt haud's I could, 'fo' day an' arter dark.
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