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Updated: June 16, 2025
An' him as know'd what good work war, an's got a son as is the head o' the village an' all Treddles'on too, for cleverness." "Very well, mother, if that's thy wish, I'll make the coffin at home; but I thought thee wouldstna like to hear the work going on." "An' why shouldna I like 't? It's the right thing to be done. An' what's liking got to do wi't?
"What wi's restin' so bad o' neets, an' th' gettin' up an' down to him, an' feedin' him, an' shiftin' him he's that 'eavy I cannot stir him mysel' I 'ave to wait till th' lads comes back fro' work eh, it's weary work! I'm very nigh killed wi't." "Well, but if he gets better, you know," suggests the visitor, "you'll be glad to have nursed him so well."
"So they are," said Sam'l, almost fiercely. "I kin she's a neat han' at singein' a hen," said Pete. "An' wi't a'," said Davit, "she's a snod, canty bit stocky in her Sabbath claes." "If onything, thick in the waist," suggested Jamie. "I dinna see that," said Sam'l.
"Happen he'll doctor thy Croxley Champion afore he's through wi't." So they flashed at each other as the one side waited and the other passed. Then there came a rolling murmur swelling into a shout, and a great brake with four horses came clattering along, all streaming with salmon-pink ribbons.
"Ah, to be sure," said Mrs. Poyser, emphatically, "you make but a poor trap to catch luck if you go and bait it wi' wickedness. The money as is got so's like to burn holes i' your pocket. I'd niver wish us to leave our lads a sixpence but what was got i' the rightful way. And as for the weather, there's One above makes it, and we must put up wi't: it's nothing of a plague to what the wenches are."
"Na, na, I wadna swear to ony siller spoons that ever war made, unless I had put a private mark on them wi' my ain hand, an' that's what I never did to ane." "See, they are all marked with a C." "Sae are a' the spoons in Argyle, an' the half o' them in Edinburgh I think. A C is a very common letter, an' so are a' the names that begin wi't.
"But winna ye first send awa Mr. Lovel's letter?" said Mrs. Heukbane. "Troth I kenna wha to send wi't till the gudeman comes hame, for auld Caxon tell'd me that Mr. Lovel stays a' the day at Monkbarns he's in a high fever, wi' pu'ing the laird and Sir Arthur out o' the sea." "Silly auld doited carles!" said Mrs. Shortcake; "what gar'd them gang to the douking in a night like yestreen!"
But, Tammas, if a a minister was fond o' a particular flower say a rose and you destroyed it by an accident, when he wasna looking, what would you do?" "I would gie him another rose for't." "But if you didna want him to ken you had meddled wi't on his chimley, what would you do?" "I would put the new rose on the chimley, and he would never ken the differ."
"Ye see what it is to hae a bad name. I tell't ye there was mair than me mistaen aboot this affair. It's a most unlucky name yours." "Confound the name, sir!" said I. "It's like to be baith the ruin an' the death o' me. But what can I do? I canna get quit o't, an' maun just fecht oot wi't the best way I can."
They are fond o' a bittie o' onything green. I tak' a bit dander oot the bunkers on a Sabbath mornin' whiles for a pucklie chuckin-wirth to Dickie, an' you wud really think the cratur kent. He gleys doon when I come in, as much as to say, 'C'way wi't, Sandy; I ken fine you have't in your pooch!"
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