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Eh, but we maun tak care o' 'im, father! Whaur would I be wi'oot you at my back!" "And God at the back o' baith, bairn!" rejoined the soutar. "It's thinkable that the Almichty may hae special diffeeculty wi sic as he, but nane can jeedge o' ony thing or body till they see the hin'er en' o' 't a'. But I'm thinkin it maun aye be harder for ane that hasna his ain mither to luik til.
They rade an' they ran; the doctor cam', an' the minister, an' the lawyer, an' the grave-digger. But whan a man's deid, what can a' the warl' du for 'im but berry 'im? puir hin'er en' thof it be to him' at draws himsel' up, an' blaws himsel' oot! There was mony a conjectur as to hoo he cam by his deith, an' mony a doobt it wasna by fair play.
"A good story, and well told," said the marquis kindly. "Don't you think so, Florimel?" "Yes, papa," Lady Florimel answered; "only he kept us waiting too long for the end of it." "Some fowk, my leddy," said Malcolm, "wad aye be at the hin'er en' o' a'thing. But for mysel', the mair pleased I was to be gaein' ony gait, the mair I wad spin oot the ro'd till 't."
"It's no possible!" returned Malcolm. "I saw him last nicht." "He cam about ten o'clock, sir, an' hed a turn o' the fa'in' sickness o' the spot. He 's verra ill the noo, an' the mistress sent me ower to speir gien ye wad obleege her by gaein' to see him." "Has he ta'en till 's bed?" asked Malcolm. "We pat him till 't, sir. He 's ravin' mad, an' I 'm thinkin' he 's no far frae his hin'er en'."
"It's no possible," returned Malcolm. "I saw him last nicht." "He cam aboot ten o'clock, sir, an' hed a turn o' the fa'in' sickness o' the spot. He's verra ill the noo, an' the mistress sent me ower to speir gien ye wad obleege her by gaein' to see him." "Has he ta'en till's bed?" asked Malcolm. "We pat him infill 't, sir. He's ravin' mad, an' I'm thinkin' he's no far frae his hin'er en'."