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Updated: June 7, 2025
A doctor is the last resort of the unlettered poor. The very threat of one to the Scotch peasant of a half-century ago was a sentence of death. Auld Jock blanched, and he shook so that he dropped his spoon. Mr. Traill hastened to undo the mischief. "It's no' a doctor ye'll be needing, ava, but a bit dose o' physic an' a bed in the infirmary a day or twa." "I wullna gang to the infairmary.
"I want Bobby i' the bed wi' me. I'll cuddle 'im an' lo'e 'im till he staps greetin'." "Nae, bonny wee, he wullna stap." The farmer picked the child up on one arm, gripped the dog under the other, and the gude wife went before with a lantern, across the dark farmyard to the cow-barn.
Gin I keep snug an' canny it wullna gang to the heart. Jeanie, woman, fetch ma fife, wull ye?" Then there were strange doings in the kirkyard lodge. James Brown "wasna gangin' to dee" before his time came, at any rate.
"Na, na, she wullna leave ta Hieland hills for naught at a'." "Then she shall hae a siller crown for every month o' the year, Sandy." The poor, rude creature hardly knew how to say a "thanks;" but John saw it in his glistening eyes and heard it in the softly-muttered words, "She was ta only are tat e'er caret for Santy Beg." It was a solemn day in Stromness when he went to the gallows.
The throstles nest there, an' the blackbirds whustle bonny. It isna so far but the bairnies could march oot wi' posies." She turned to the lady, who had overheard her. "We gied a promise to the Laird Provost to gie Bobby a grand funeral. Ye ken he wullna be permittet to be buried i' the kirkyaird." "Will he not? I had not thought of that." Her tone was at once hushed and startled.
I'll just have to be leaving him here the two days, Mr. Brown." "Ye wullna leave 'im! Ye'll tak' 'im wi' ye, or I'll hae to put 'im oot. Man, I couldna haud the place gin I brak the rules." "You will no' put the wee dog out!" Mr. Traill shook a playful, emphatic finger under the big man's nose. "Why wull I no'?" "Because, man, you have a vera soft heart, and you canna deny it."
The white miller in the doorway of the gray-stone, red-roofed mill laughed, and anxious children ran down from a knot of storybook cottages and gay dooryards. "I'll gie ye ten shullin's for the sperity bit dog," the miller shouted, above the clatter of the' wheel and the swish of the dam. "He isna oor ain dog," Geordie called back. "But he wullna droon.
After another false alarm from the gate she asked her gude-mon, as she had asked many times before: "What'll ye do, Jamie, when the meenister kens aboot Bobby, an' ca's ye up afore kirk sessions for brakin' the rule?" "We wullna cross the brig till we come to the burn, woman," he invariably answered, with assumed unconcern.
An', by the leuk o' ye, ye'd be nane the waur for soap an' water yer ainsel's." "We'll gie 'im 'is washin' an' combin' the nicht," they volunteered, eagerly. "Weel, noo, he wullna hae 'is dinner till the time-gun." Neither would they. At that, annoyed by their persistence, Mr. Brown denied authority. "Ye ken weel he isna ma dog. Ye'll hae to gang up an' spier Maister Traill.
"A picnic is whaur ye hae onything ye fancy to eat; gude things ye wullna be haein' ilka day, ye mind." He rang a call-bell, and a grinning waiter laddie popped up so quickly the lassie caught her breath. "Eneugh broo for aince," said Tammy. "Porridge that isna burned," suggested Ailie. Such pitiful poverty of the imagination!
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