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Updated: May 10, 2025
Then oi said to eawr Marget, as we lay upo' t' floor, "We's never be lower i' this warld oi'm sure, If ever things awtern, oi'm sure they mun mend, For oi think i' my heart we're booath at t' far eend; For meeat we ha' none, Nor looms t' weyve on, Edad! they're as good lost as fund."
"It has, I suppose, been all a dream, and now I have awaked, but it was . . . a pleasant dream, and one finds the morning light a little chill. One must just learn to forget, and be as if one had never . . . dreamed," but Carmichael looked at Marget wistfully.
"Are ony o' them shaping weel?" Drumsheugh had given himself away, and Domsie laid his first parallel with a glowing account of George Howe's Latinity, which was well received. "Weel, I'm gled tae hear sic accoonts o' Marget Hoo's son; there's naething in Whinnie but what the spune puts in." But at the next move Drumsheugh scented danger and stood at guard.
"Weel, yir wrang, Weelum," broke in Marget, Whinnie's wife, a tall, silent woman, with a speaking face; "it's naither the ae thing nor the ither, but something I've been prayin' for since Geordie was a wee bairn. Clean yirsel and meet Domsie on the road, for nae man deserves more honour in Drumtochty, naither laird nor farmer."
But ye 'ill be pleased to know," here the figure relaxed and beamed on the anxious minister, "that a'm rael weel satisfied wi' yersel', and a'm thinkin' o' sittin' under ye. Drumtochty read widely Soutar was soaked in Carlyle, and Marget Howe knew her "In Memoriam" by heart but our intellectual life centred on the weekly sermon.
"Rita's a good lassie," he said, "and she hasna had schoolin' except what Marget and me taught her, and that's little more than being able to read and add up a few lines o' figures. "George Bremner, you're an honest man and I like ye fine. You'll ha'e my answer by the end o' the week." "Right you are!" I exclaimed. Andrew then started in to tell Mr.
Marget got along very well with the children, and certainly the liberal pay which Elsli brought home every day was a great gain; to say nothing of many clothes which the sick child could not use, and which would clothe Elsli for a long time to come. All this was pleasant tidings, and aunty went home with a much lighter heart. About half-way home she met Oscar coming to meet her.
If he learned from books at all, it was from the wonderful, dusty, mildewed volumes that Marget Maclean had on her shelves behind the post-office.
"Ye dae me much honour, Miss Carnegie," and Marget slightly flushed, "an' much pleasure, for there is naething dearer tae me than keeping the Sacrament; it is my joy every day and muckle comfort in life." "But I thought you had it only once a year?" questioned Kate.
Her voice was laden with feeling, and it was plain that she had given of her own and deepest for the guiding of another. "Marget, I can never be grateful enough to you for what you have shown me this day." As she passed Whinny with his bag of seed, he apologised for his wife.
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