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Ta maad lairt was not ferry maad, and if he was maad he was not paad, and it was not ta plame of him: he was coot always, howefer." "He wass that, daddy." "But it will pe something ferry paad, and it will pe efer troubling her speerit. Aal is not well, my son." "Weel, dinna distress yersel', daddy. Lat come what wull come.

Ta maad lairt was not fery maad, and if he was maad he was not paad, and it was not to ta plame of him; he wass coot always however." "He was that, daddy." "But it will pe something fery paad, and it will pe troubling her speerit. All is not well, my son." "Weel, dinna distress yersel', daddy. Lat come what wull come.

"The puir laird's gane back to his," said Malcolm. "I won'er gien he kens yet, or gien he gangs speirin' at ilk ane he meets gien he can tell him whaur he cam frae. He's mad nae mair, ony gait." "How? Will he pe not tead? Ta poor lairt! Ta poor maad lairt!" "Ay, he's deid: maybe that's what 'll be troublin' yer sicht, daddy." "No, my son.

An' I soucht sair to cry oot first o' a' to tell her gien she didna luik till her feet, she wad he lairt i' the bog, an' syne to beg o' her for mercy's sake to draw her swoord, an' caw the oogly heid aff o' me, an' lat me dee.

"The puir laird's gane back to his," said Malcolm. "I won'er gien he kens yet, or gien he gangs speirin' at ilk ane he meets gien he can tell him whaur he cam frae. He's mad nae mair, ony gait." "How? Will he pe not tead? Ta poor lairt! Ta poor maad lairt!" "Ay, he's deid: maybe that's what'll be troublin' yer sicht, daddy." "No, my son.