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"He's only a day or two prema-chure, honey. It wasn't hardly worth while explainin'," he claimed. "A day or two. Oh, Johnnie!" "Sure. I ain't gonna wait. Wha's the matter with to-morrow?" "I haven't any clothes made," she evaded, and added by way of diversion, "I always liked that kinda golden down on your cheeks." "The stores are full of 'em. An' we ain't talkin' about my whiskers not right now."
'The cauld, grey, misty morn aft brings a sunny summer day; The tree wha's buds are latest is longest to decay; The heart sair tried wi' sorrow still endures the sternest test: The birdie sure to sing is the gorbal of the nest.
"I'll run up to the attic again, an' see if there's ony stir at the lawyer's hoose." By and by Leeby returned in triumph. "Ou, ay," she said, "they're expectin' veesitors at the lawyer's, for I could see twa o' the bairns dressed up to the nines, an' Mistress Ogilvy doesna dress at them in that wy for naething." "It fair beats me though, Leeby, to guess wha's comin' to them.
"And wha's that ye'd be after dinging, man?" cried a sharp voice behind him. "No that puir feckless body that has jist skippit aff. If sae, ye'll tak the wrang soo by the lugg, and I counsel you to let him bide, for he's high i' favour wi' the King."
"I doan't howd wi' guns an' shootin' aboot, in a sma' garden, wi' t' washin' an' aw." "It's feyther's garden, ain't it, as long as he pays t' rent!" said Will, bringing his hand down on the table with sudden passion. "Wha's to hinder me? Mebbe yo' think Melrose 'ull be aboot." "Howd your tongue, Willie," said his mother, mildly. "We werena taakin' o' Melrose." "Noa because we're aye thinkin'!"
"It turnt oot, or cam to be said,'at the Englishman 'at fowk believed to hae killt him, was far-awa' sib to the faimily, an' the twa had come thegither afore, somewhaur i' foreign pairts. But that's naither here nor there, nor what for he killed him, or wha's faut was that same: aboot a' that, naething was ever kent for certain.
"Deil haet o' me kens," said Ratcliffe; "he'll no likely gang back to ony o' his auld howffs; he'll be off the country by this time. He has gude friends some gate or other, for a' the life he's led; he's been weel educate." "He'll grace the gallows the better," said Mr. Sharpitlaw; "a desperate dog, to murder an officer of the city for doing his duty! Wha kens wha's turn it might be next?
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?"
The bully, half seas over, leaned forward and gripped his knife. He was sober enough to catch the jeer running through the other's words without being sufficiently master of himself to appreciate the menace that underlay them. "Wha's that? Say that again!" he burst out, purple to the collar line.
"But wha's the woman Dite's ta'en?" T'nowhead or some one of the more silent members of the company asked of Pete. "Ou, we dinna ken wha she is," answered Pete; "but she'll be some Glasca lassie, for he's there noo. Look, lads, look at this. He sent this at the same time; it's her picture." Pete produced the silhouette of a young lady, and handed it round. "What do ye think?" he asked.
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