O, Mr.Erchie, tak a thocht ere it's ower late.

Ye shouldna be impatient o' the braws o' life, they'll a' come in their saison, like the sun and the rain.

Ye're young yet; ye've mony cantie years afore ye.
See and dinna wreck yersel' at the outset like sae mony ithers! Hae patience--they telled me aye that was the owercome o' life--hae patience, there's a braw day coming yet.

Gude kens it never cam to me; and here I am, wi' nayther man nor bairn to ca' my ain, wearying a' folks wi' my ill tongue, and you just the first, Mr.Erchie!" "I have a difficulty in knowing what you mean," said Archie.
"Weel, and I'll tell ye," she said.

"It's just this, that I'm feared.
I'm feared for ye, my dear.