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Updated: May 23, 2025
The ae moment she steed newsin wi' her mistress i' the kitchie, and the neist she was in a heap upo' the fleer o' 't! But come in, come in."
Syne I wad gether a' the bits o' drains frae a' sides, till I had a bonny stream o' watter aff o' the sweet corn lan', rowin' doon here whaur we stan', an' ower to the castel itsel', an' throu' coort an' kitchie, gurglin' an' rinnin', an' syne oot again an' doon the face o' the scaur, splashin' an' loupin' like mad. I wad lea' a' the lave to Natur' hersel'. It wad be a gran' place, my lord!
'Eh, sir! she said, 'I didna ken it was you, or I wadna hae come into the room ohn chappit at the door. I'll awa' back to my kitchie. So saying, she turned to leave the room. 'Hoots! Betty, cried Robert, 'dinna be a gowk. Gie 's a grip o yer han'. Betty stood staring and irresolute, overcome at sight of the manly bulk before her.
Sae I was angert at seein' her colloguin' wi' Jean, an' I cried Jean to me to the door o' the kitchie.
"I hadna the presumption, my leddy, to coont the Hoose in Portlossie Ye'll hae a sicht o' buiks up there, no?" "Have you never been in the library?" "I never set fut i' the hoose 'cep' i' the kitchie, an' ance or twise steppin' across the ha' frae the ae door to the tither. I wad fain see what kin' o' a place great fowk like you bides in, an' what kin' o' things, buiks an' a', ye hae aboot ye.
And luik upo' this bit hoosie, 'at I ca' my ain, and they a' helpit me to bigg, but as a lean-to til the hoose at hame, for I'm no awa frae it or them jist as that hoose and this hoose and a' the hooses are a' jist but bairnies' hooses, biggit by themsels aboot the big flure o' thy kitchie and i' the neuks o' the same wi' yer ain truffs and stanes and divots, sir.
I s' hae nae sic doin's i' my hoose. 'It's nae your hoose, Betty. Dinna lee. 'Weel, I s' hae nae sic things gang by my kitchie door. There, Robert! what 'll ye mak' o' that? There's nae offence, there, I houp, gin it suldna be a'thegither my ain hoose. Tak Shargar oot o' that, or I s' awa' benn the hoose, as I tell ye.
Rev. E. A. Burroughs, of Oxford, has been giving religious lectures. Principal D. S. Cairns, of Aberdeen, has had crowded meetings night after night for his apologetic lectures, and the questions raised in the open discussions would make one think he was in a theological seminary. Principal Kitchie, of Nottingham, has been lecturing on European history and the Balkan situation.
Mrs Forbes and Annie Anderson were sitting together when Mary put her head in at the door and told her mistress that the daughter of Mr Constable, the clothier, wanted to see her. "Why, she's a mere infant, Mary!" exclaimed Mrs Forbes. "'Deed is she, mem; but she's nane the less doon the stair i' the kitchie. Ye wad hae seen her come yersel' but she's ower wee.
And was it ta putter, or ta traicle, or ta pottle o' peer, she would be havin' for kitchie tis fine mornin'?" This point settled, the two sat down to eat their breakfast; and no one would have discovered, from the manner in which the old man helped himself, nor yet from the look of his eyes, that he was stone blind. It came neither of old age nor disease he had been born blind.
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