Then, with the air of one about to communicate a novel idea, "And sic as ye gie, sic will ye get, frae him." "Well, well," he added aloud, "ye munnet think I cannot stand my rackups." The old man, despite this unexpected fall, was just beginning to show his mettle.
"Whear the pot's brocken, there let the sherds lie, lad," said the old man; "keep thy breath to cool thy poddish, forby thy mug of yal, and here't comes." As he spoke the hostess brought up a pot of ale, smoking hot, and put it in Ralph's hand. "Let every man stand his awn rackups, Ralph. Sim's a bad lot, and reet serv'd."
"I might have known you could never care for me I might have known that," he said with difficulty. "But don't think I can't stand my rackups, as the saying is. I know my course now I know my job." She was sobbing into her hands, and he was breathing fast and loud. "One word more only one about the child." "Little Katherine!" "Have I a right to her?"