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Updated: May 7, 2025
Callender, on entering, and assuming a calmness and composure of demeanour that was sadly belied by the suppressed agitation, or rather fury, which she could not conceal, "I'm just come to ask ye if ye'll be sae guid, Mem, as gie me my jeely mug." "Yer jeely mug, Mrs. Callender!" exclaimed Mrs.
"Becky, Becky," she exclaimed, in a tone of lofty indignation and thus summoning to her presence, from an adjoining apartment, her daughter, a little girl of about ten years of age "rin owre dereckly to Lucky Anderson's and tell her to give me my jeely can immediately." And Mrs. Callender stamped her foot, grew red in the face, and exhibited sundry other symptoms of towering passion.
The anxious mother was counselling her young son regarding his behavior at the table of that excellent lady: 'An' mind, Macgreegor, ye're no' to be askin' fur jeely till ye've ett twa bits o' breed-an'-butter. It's no' mainners; an' yer Aunt Purdie's rale partecclar. An' yer no' to dicht yer mooth wi' yer cuff mind that. Ye're to tak' yer hanky an' let on ye're jist gi'ein' yer nib a bit wipe.
Anderson, in high excitation, as she swept together the fragments of her demolished crockery, "I'll hae't on Tam Callender and his wife. May I niver see the morn, if I haena them afore the Shirra before a week gangs owre my head! I hae a set aff, noo, against her jeely mug, I think." "It's been a bonny business," replied her husband; "but what on earth was't a' aboot?"
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