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"No, I han't," the pert fellow rejoined. "Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like ony cat a mouse." "Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench," he answered calmly. "Yo' wench, indeed!" she cried, tossing her head. "Ay, or will be," he muttered. "What's that?" she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face. "Nowt, my dear.
Nae sham aboot him, but a rale human bein', an' after listenin' to him tellin' what Socialism is, it mak's you feel ashamed that you ever believed things that you did believe aboot it. It's that simple an' Tam Donaldson is fair carried awa' wi' it the night." "I'm glad you had a guid meetin'," she said, her interest kindled too.
"There never was a chief of the family after; the men were scattered, an' the castle demolished. The doo and the hoodie-craw nestle i' their towers, and the hare mak's her form on their grassy hearth-stane." "Is this stone still to be seen?" "Ou, na.
"Without doubt," said Ralph; "but how does matrimony, for either the first or the second time, cure that?" "Weel, sir, ye see, mairriage mak's a man kind o' independent like. Say, for instance, ye hae been a' day at jobs up i' the yaird, an' it's no been what ye micht ca' pleesant crunchin' through green wud an' waur whiles. "I have run over, Saunders?" queried Ralph.
"Dinna ye reckon on that, Jennie; it's nae the bonniest Bubbly Jock that mak's the most feathers to fly in the kailyard. I was ever a lad to run after the petticoats, as is weel kent; an' it's a weary handfu' I'll be to ye, I'm thinkin'." "Ah, but ye hae a kind heart, Davie! an' ye love me weel. I'm sure on't."
"Eh, sich a to-do as he mak's about it you'd never believe," put in the wife, "he'll never let our Gaffer tak' a bit o' credit to hissel' eh, it's terrible how he goes on! I b'lieve if he were fair deein' he'd get up an' walk sooner nor let poor Martin ha' th' satisfaction o' sayin' he'd walked once oftener nor him.
"It mak's me go all of a shake," the good woman added. "Eh, I cannot tell ye! It seems onnatural-like. Yer Feyther's noan like 'issel'. To think of his takkin' on that gate about owd Martin Tyrer; mony a one 'ud be fain enough as he were out o' the road!" Meanwhile Robert himself certainly did not say much, as the neighbours observed; in fact, he said nothing at all.
He canna unnerstan' thy ways, nor, for that maitter, can I preten' to unnerstan' them mysel'. But thoo art a' licht, and in thee is no darkness at all. And thy licht comes into oor blin' een, and mak's them blinner yet. But, O Lord, gin it wad please thee to hear oor prayer...eh! hoo we wad praise thee! And my Andrew wad praise thee mair nor ninety and nine o' them 'at need nae repentance.
It was played by the boys with a ball, driven with sticks, each with "a big lump o' wood at the end o't." The more advanced pupils learned grammar. "I niver learned nae graymer masel'," said Willy. "I couldna' onderstan' a word o't. I thocht it a gey-like leetany to hear the graymer. 'I mak', thou mak's, he mak's' seemed to me nae sense, ye ken!" There were no holidays as a regular thing.
"Oh! a' say," remarked a born East-Ender, for whom we are perfectly certain the Clyde and Thistle, according to his self-importance at any rate, had played their best on Barrowfield and Beechwood, "look at that; it's no' fair to gie the Vale a free kick for that; it's the auld way; gie't ta the yin that mak's the maist noise."
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