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Updated: June 13, 2025
Ye was naething but a fisher body upon a sma' watter i' the hert o' the hills, 'at wasna even saut; an' what can the thochts that gaed throu' your fish catchin' brain hae to du wi' sic a sicht 's this? I won'er gien at this moment there be anither man in a' Lon'on sittin' readin' that epistle o' yours but Blue Peter here?
"Dinna distress yersel'. We canna help it." "But what'll ye do, Curly?" asked Annie in a tone full of compassionate loving-kindness, and with her hand still on his arm. "It's sair to bide." "Gude kens that.�-I maun jist warstle throu' 't like mony anither. I'll awa' back to the pig-skin saiddle I was workin' at," said Curly, with a smile at the bitterness of his fate.
Ye winna threep upo' me 'at a man wha lea's a wuman, lat alane his wife or ane 'at he ca's his wife to a' the pains o' a mither, an' a' the penalties o' an oonmerried ane, ohn ever speirt hoo she wan throu' them, preserves the richt he was born till o' bein' coontit a gentleman? Ony gait, a maiden, wuman like mysel' wha has nae feelin's will not alloo him the teetle Guid forbid it!"
Eh, sic an accoont o' ye as I'll hae to gie to the mither o' ye whan I win to see her! For surely they'll lat me see her, though they may weel no think me guid eneuch to bide wi' her up there, for as lang as we was thegither doon here! Tell me, sir, what wad ye hae me du. But jist ae thing I maun say: gien I hadna dune as I did du, I do not see hoo we cud hae won throu' the winter."
Gien ye dee fechtin' like a man, ye'll flee up wi' a quaiet face an' wide open een; an' there's a great Ane 'at 'll say to ye, 'Weel dune, laddie! But gien ye gie in to the enemy, he'll turn ye intill a creepin' thing 'at eats dirt; an' there 'll no be a hole in a' the crystal wa' o' the New Jerusalem near eneuch to the grun' to lat ye creep throu'."
But the Michty cairried me throu'. An' hoo's wee Sir Gibbie? Come in I dinna ken yer name but we're jist at the door o' my bit garret. Come quaiet up the stair, an' tell me a' aboot it." "Weel, I wadna be sorry to rist a bit, for I hae tint mysel a'thegither, an' I'm some tiret," answered Donal. "I but left the Mains thestreen."
Still he walked home as if the heavy boots he wore were wings at his heels, like those of the little Eurus or Boreas that stood blowing his trumpet for ever in the round open temple which from the top of a grassy hill in the park overlooked the Seaton. "Sic een!" he kept saying to himself; "an' sic sma' white han's! an' sic a bonny flit! Eh hoo she wad glitter throu' the water in a bag net!
Gie Him no rist, day nor nicht, till ye get it. Knock, knock, knock, till it be opened till ye." "Weel, Thomas, ye dinna seem sae happy yersel', efter a'. Dinna ye think ye may be like ane that's tryin' to see the face o' whilk ye speyk throu a crack i' the door, in place o' haein patience till it's opened?" But the suggestion was quite lost upon Thomas, who, after a gloomy pause, went on.
"Jist for thouchtlessness, I doobt, But wha could hae imagined to kep a ghaist by paperin' ower a door, whan, gien there be ony trowth i' sic tales, the ghaist gangs throu a stane wa' jist as easy's open air! But surely o' a' fules a ghaist maun be the warst 'a things on aboot a place!" "Maybe it's to haud away frae a waur.
'Because he turned blin' lang afore his en' cam, and there was naething ither he cud do. And he wad aye mak an honest baubee whan he cud; for siller was fell scarce at that time o' day amo' the Falconers. Sae he gaed throu the toon at five o'clock ilka mornin' playin' his pipes, to lat them 'at war up ken they war up in time, and them 'at warna, that it was time to rise.
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