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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Takin' awa' my lugs," returned Phemy. "Ye cratur!" exclaimed Malcolm, "ye're ower wise. Wha wad hae thoucht ye sae gleg at the uptak!" "Whan fowk winna lippen to me " said Phemy and ceased. "What can ye expec," returned Malcolm, while father and mother listened with amused faces, "whan ye winna lippen to fowk? Phemy, whaur's the mad laird?"
"Hoots!" said the woman, "dinna speyk that gait, sir. It's no wice-like. Tak a dram, an' tak hert, an' dinna fling the calf efter the coo. Whaur's yer boatle, sir?" John paid no heed to her suggestion, but Jean took it up. "The boatle's whaur ye s' no lay han' upo' 't," she said.
'But I can, said Robert. 'I don't doubt it, returned Ericson. 'But I owe you too much already. 'Gin ever we win hame I mean to the heart o' hame ye can pay me there. 'There will be no need then. 'Whaur's the need than to mak sic a wark aboot a saxpence or twa atween this and that? I thocht ye cared for naething that time or space or sense could grip or measure. Mr.
Jean was standing at it with her apron to her eyes. "Tammas Whamond?" I demanded, and my face completed the question. "You're ower late," she wailed. "He's wi' her. Oh, dominie, whaur's the minister?" "You base woman!" I cried, "why did you unbar the door?" "It was the mistress," she answered. "She heard him shaking it, and I had to tell her wha it was. Dominie, it's a' my wite!
"She micht hae kenned her secret would be safe wi' me!" "I micht hae said the same, but for the w'y ye spak o' her this vera meenut! Whaur is she, mother? Whaur's Isy?" "'Deed, she's made a munelicht flittin o' 't!" "I telled ye she would never tell upo me! Hed she ony siller?" "Hoo can I tell?" "Did ye pey her ony wages?" "She gae me no time!
"If you fight," cried Gavin, brightening as he heard the clatter of the iron on the stones, "your wives and children may be shot in the streets. These soldiers have come for a dozen of you; will you be benefited if they take away a hundred?" "Oh, hearken to him," cried many women. "I winna," answered a man, "for I'm ane o' the dozen. Whaur's the Egyptian?" "Here."
Then he howled dismally and bolted for the door. Mr. John Traill, the smooth-shaven, hatchet-faced proprietor, standing midway in shirtsleeves and white apron, caught the flying terrier between his legs and gave him a friendly clap on the side. "Did you come by your ainsel' with a farthing in your silky-purse ear to buy a bone, Bobby? Whaur's Auld Jock?"
'An' rings on his fingers an' bells 'Noo, noo, lassie, ye're no to mak' fun o' me! Whaur's his case? Christina handed her an aluminium cigarette case the best in the shop and she presented it to Macgregor, saying: 'Ye're no to gang an' hurt yer health wi' smokin'; but when ye tak' a ceegarette, ye'll maybe gi'e a thocht to an auld body that'll be rememberin' ye, baith mornin' an' nicht.
And the queston's no whar's the man I micht help, but whaur's the man I maun help. I wantit to be your neebour, but I cudna win at ye for the thieves; ye wad stick to them, and they wudna lat me du naething. 'What thieves, i' the name o' common sense, Kirsty? 'Love o' yer ain gait, and love o' makin a show, and want o' care for what's richt.
I never tell lees. 'Whaur's Shargar? What for doesna he come till 's mither? 'He's hynd awa' ower the seas a captain o' sodgers. 'It's a lee. He's an ill-faured scoonrel no to come till 's mither an' bid her gude-bye, an' her gaein' to hell. 'Gin ye speir at Christ, he'll tak ye oot o' the verra mou' o' hell, wuman. 'Christ! wha's that? Ow, ay! It's him 'at they preach aboot i' the kirks.
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