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Updated: May 6, 2025
Sandy cudna sit still at nicht, an' he sang an' smokit till, atween bein' deaved an' scumfished, I was nearhand seek. Efter readin' oor chapter, I gaed awa' to my bed. I lookit up twa-three times an' saw Sandy sittin' afore the fire, twirlin' his thooms, an' gien a bit whistle noo an' than.
He gaed forrit efter a while an' pettin' his thooms on Sandy's heid, he says, in a coalman's kind o' a voice, "Sleep, sleep." "He's awa' wi't," says Bandy, turnin' roond to the rest o' them. They were sittin' wi' their moos wide open, an' a great deal mair mismirized than Sandy, I thocht.
An' he stands wi' his thooms i' the oxter holes o' his weyscot, an' lauchs, an' says, "Tyuch; naething ava; no wirth speakin' aboot," when I tell them hoo big I am aboot it. She's genna be broken on Munanday Nooeer's-day. If you're pasain' oor wey, look in an' get a crummie. I'll be richt gled to see you, I'm shure. A happy noo 'ear to you, when it comes an' mony may ye see! Ah-hy!
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