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Updated: June 26, 2025
But, of coorse, it's no' ilka day they see a magic lantern. Mistress Kenawee, an' Mistress Mollison an' her man, the Gairner, an' the Smith, an' I cudna tell ye hoo mony mair, had gotten wind o't, an' the washin'-hoose was as foo as cud cram.
There was a big meetin' i' the washin'-hoose nae farrer gane than lest nicht; an' efter a fell while's crackin', Bandy startit to speak aboot mismirizin' an' phrenology, an' that kind o' thing. Bandy tell'd aboot some o' his exploits mismirizin' sailors, an' took on to show aff his po'ers on Sandy.
We got doon the stair an' I lichtit the fire an' got the kettle to the boil, an' we sat an' harkined to the wind skreechin' doon the lum, an' groanin' an' wailin' amon' the trees ower the road, an' soochin' roond aboot the washin'-hoose. I raley never heard the marrow o't. The nicht o' the fa'a'in' o' the Tay Brig was but the blawin' oot o' a can'le aside it.
An' oot at the door he gaed, halin't to ahent him wi' a bang that garred the very sweetie bottles rattle. I was juist gaen oot at the back door on Wednesday nicht last week when I hears some crackin' gaen on i' the washin'-hoose, an' I lookit in to see wha was there. "Man, that's juist the very dollop," says Sandy, as I lifted the sneck.
I gaed by the washin'-hoose door twa-three times, an' heard the spittin', an' the ochin' an' ayin', an' some bletherin' aboot sprentin', an' rubbin' doon, an' sic like; but I cud mak' nether heid nor tail o't. But, I can tell ye, baith heid an' tail o't cam' oot on Setarday nicht.
"It's Pottie Lawson gane daft," said the laddies to the pileece. "He's foamin' at the moo." Efter an awfu' wey o' doin' they got Pottie haled oot o' the cellar an' hame; an' it's my opinion he'll never be seen in oor washin'-hoose again; an' I'm shure I'll no' brak' my heart. But aboot the can'le an' the ink you mibby winder hoo Sandy manished to stamack them. I gaed in an' smelt the ink.
We'd never seen hint nor hair o' them here sin' syne; an' I'm shure they're a gude reddance. But wha shud turn up i' the washin'-hoose the ither nicht but Pottie! He'd gotten Dauvid Kenawee to speak to Sandy, an' gotten the thing sowdered up some wey or ither, an' there he was again, as brisk as a bee. But Sandy wasna that easy pacifeed.
Sandy had on his sirtoo an' his lum gin this time, an' he was gaen about makin' a terriple noise, blawin' his nose in his Sabbath hankie, an' lookin', haud your tongue, juist as big's bull beef. He gaed into the washin'-hoose to cowshin the laddies, for they were makin' a terriple din.
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