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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Gie's a han' up wi't, Alec," he said. And in a moment more Curly was off to Widow Lapp with his bag of firing. "He's a fine chield that Willie o' yours, George," said Alec to the father. "He only wants to hae a thing weel pitten afore him, an' he jist acts upo' 't direckly. "It's weel he maks a cronie o' you, Alec. There's a heap o' mischeef in him. Whaur's he aff wi thae spells?"
The rain had ceased and the sun come out, and the children began to be called away. There was quite a little ceremony of lingering leave-taking with the lady and with Bobby, and while this was going on Ailie had a "sairious" confidence for her old playfellow. "Tammy, as the leddy says, Bobby's gettin' auld. I ken whaur's a snawy hawthorn aboon the burn in Swanston Dell.
To those who understood, it was as if he would force his way through every stockade of prejudice, ditch of habit, rampart of indifference, moat of sin, wall of stupidity, and curtain of ignorance, until he stood face to face with the conscience of his hearer. "Rank Arminianism!" murmured the woman. "Whaur's the gospel o' that?"
I said to him, calling Richard by the name he's been goin' by, I said, 'Whaur's Robert Kater? He jumped up an' began figitin' aboot the room, settin' me a chair an' the like, an' I asked again, 'Is this the pentin' room o' Robert Kater? an' he said, 'It was his room, yes. Then he asked me was I any kin to him, an' I told him, did he think I would come walkin' into his place the like o' that if I was no kin to him?
Miss Bathgate took a savoury-smelling dish from the oven and put it, along with two hot plates, before Mawson, then put the teapot before herself and they began. "Whaur's Miss Reston the nicht?" Bella asked, as she helped herself to hot buttered toast. "Dinin' with Sir John and Lady Tweedie. She's wearin' a lovely new gown, sort of yellow. It suited her a treat. I must say she did look noble.
It was all the talk in the servants' 'all at Champertoun 'oo would be Lady Bidborough. There were several likely young ladies there, but 'e didn't seem partial to any of them." "Whaur's he awa to the noo?" "Back to London for a bit, I 'eard, and later on we're joining 'im at Bidborough. Beller, I was thinking to myself when they were h'all talking, what if Lady B. should be a Priorsford lady?
"Whaur's ma drawer?" inquires Private Hogg, a thick-set young man with bandy legs, wiping his countenance with a much-tattooed arm. He has just completed five strenuous minutes with a pick. "Come away, Geordie, wi' yon shovel!" The shovel is preceded by an adjective. It is the only adjective that A Company knows. Mr. George Ogg steps down into the breach, and sets to work.
"Why, Andy, speaking of a day like this, you'd have the crochets whiffed from your head if you'd go out for your lunch in the pep of the air instead of penning yourself in the office." Mac Tavish leaped from his stool and marched toward this non-combatant. "Whaur's the fire o' yer spunk, Stewart Morrison?" "Go on, Andy!" permitted the master, leaning back in his chair.
Dulse is roasted by twisting it round the tongs fired to a red-heat, and the house was soon heavy with the smell of burning sea-weed. Leeby was at the dresser munching it from a broth-plate, while Hendry, on his knees at the fireplace, gingerly tore off the blades of dulse that were sticking to the tongs, and licked his singed fingers. "Whaur's yer mother?" he asked Leeby.
"Takin' up wi' anither tyke on the squaure." "Doddles 'll be at the pump, to tell whaur's the ither twa and the tyke." "Come along, then. This is hoo ye're to gang. We maunna a' gang thegither. Some o' ye you three doon the Back Wynd; you sax, up Lucky Hunter's Close; and the lave by Gowan Street; an' first at the pump bides for the lave." "Hoo are we to mak the attack, General?"
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