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"How am I to do that, Donal? Mr. Sclater would not mind me. The money's not mine yet, you know," said Gibbie. "The siller is yours, Gibbie," answered Donal; "it's yours as the kingdom o' h'aven's yours; it's only 'at ye canna jist lay yer han's upo' 't yet. The seener ye lat that Maister Scletter ken 'at ye ken what ye're aboot, the better.
"Weel, gien ye hae nae mercy upo' yer whusky, ye sud hae some upo' yer horse-beasts, ony gait," said the woman indignantly. "What mean ye by that?" returned Jean, with hard voice, and eye of blame. "Ye might at the leest gie the puir things a chance," the woman rejoined. "Hoo wad ye dee that?" said Jean. "Gien ye lowsed them they wad but tak to the watter wi' fear, an' droon the seener."
She had found it in an old romance, and had only wavered between it and Senor Gonzalez, which she pronounced Seener Gon-zallies, the other dark-eyed hero of the book. Perhaps she pictured to herself her baby growing up into such another lofty, black-plumed hidalgo as those whose magnificent language and mustachios had so deeply impressed her.
I have known not a few humble men in the pulpit of whom rather than write such a thing Donal would have lost the writing hand. 'Twas a sair sair day 'twas my hap till Come under yer soon', Mr. Sclater; But things maun he putten a tap till, An' sae maun ye, seener or later!
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