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Hortense doted on ginger cookies. "De's de jar," said Aunt Esmerelda, pointing to a big crock on the pantry shelf. "Whenevah yo's hongry, jes' yo' he'p yo'se'f." Hortense sat on a chair in the corner, out of the way, and watched Aunt Esmerelda cook. "What was the thing you and Uncle Jonah heard?" she asked at last abruptly. "Wha's dat?" Aunt Esmerelda said, dropping a saucepan with a clatter.
"D'ye ken what Maister Welsh was sayin' was the new doctrine amang thae New Licht Moderates 'hireling shepherds, he ca'd them? Noo I'm no on mysel' wi' sae muckle speakin' aboot the deil. "Gae wa' wi' ye, John Scott! wha's gaun aboot doin' sae muckle ill then, I wad like to ken?" said Meg Kissock.
"Der's a time for trade, and a time for gib, and you must do de genteel t'ing, and nebber consider wha's de 'spense of it, or de profit. De nigger hab he task in de cornfiel', and he hab for do um; but 'spose maussa wants he nigger to do somet'ing dat aint in he task dat's to say in de nigger own time wha' den? He pays um han'some for it.
After it had been repeated again and again, the housekeeper, grumbling betwixt her teeth as she rose from the chimney corner in the hall, and wrapping her checked handkerchief round her head to secure her from the cold air, paced across the stone-passage, and repeated a careful "Wha's there at this time o' night?" more than once before she undid the bolts and bars, and cautiously opened the door.
Shargar was right under the lamp, the man to the side of it, so that Shargar was shadowed by its frame, and the man was in its full light. The latter turned away, and passing Robert, went into the inn. 'Wha's that? asked Robert. 'I dinna ken, answered Shargar. 'He spak to me or ever I kent he was there, and garred my hert gie sic a loup 'at it maist fell into my breeks.
As she finished her scrutiny, she said, with a deep sigh, "It's a sair sair change; and wha's fault is it? but that's written down where it will be remembered it's written on tablets of brass with a pen of steel, where all is recorded that is done in the flesh. And what," she said after a pause, "what is Lord Geraldin seeking from a poor auld creature like me, that's dead already, and only belongs sae far to the living that she isna yet laid in the moulds?"
"We ll, no; you needn't do that," said Beverly, "Put it on my dressing-table. I'll attend to it." "Wha's become o' de gemman 'at wo' hit in the fust place? Ah ain' seen him fo' two three days." "I'm sure I don't know. He's probably asleep. That class of people never lose sleep over anything." "'E's er pow'ful good-lookin' pusson," suggested Aunt Fanny. Beverly's eyes brightened.
"I got one, fer keeps, any'ow," said Horace in the silence that followed the brief racket; "I see 'im drop 'is knife an' fall back'ards...." Perfect silence and then ... bang ... and a man standing beside Horace grunted, coughed, and scuffled on the ground. "Get down! Get down! You fools," cried Horace, who was himself standing up. "Wha's the good of a square sungar if you stands up in it?
That deserves a richt guid dram!" cried Black Jock, as he reached across the table and poured a bumper for Geordie. "Wha's gaun to sing next? Come on, chaps; let us mak' a nicht o't!" "Hear, hear," said Geordie. "I'm just feelin' in gran' fettle for a nicht. Tammas Fairly will gie's a bit verse maybe. He can sing a fair guid song." "Me sing!" exclaimed Tam.
"Come in, Florence," said Madge; "draw in a seat and sit doun, and tell me what ye mean." "Hoots, Florence," said Janet, in a tone partaking of reproach and alarm, "are ye gaun to be as daft as my mother? What matters it to us wha's king or wha's queen? it will be lang or either the ane or the ither o' them do onything for us.
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