Every body's no sae gleg at the uptake as ye are yoursell, mither." "O, my dear Cuddie, this is the sairest distress of a'," said the anxious mother--"O, how aften have I shown ye the difference between a pure evangelical doctrine, and ane that's corrupt wi' human inventions?
O, my bairn, if no for your ain saul's sake, yet for my grey hairs"-- "Weel, mither," said Cuddie, interrupting her, "what need ye mak sae muckle din about it?
I hae aye dune whate'er ye bade me, and gaed to kirk whare'er ye likit on the Sundays, and fended weel for ye in the ilka days besides.
And that's what vexes me mair than a' the rest, when I think how I am to fend for ye now in thae brickle times.

I am no clear if I can pleugh ony place but the Mains and Mucklewhame, at least I never tried ony other grund, and it wadna come natural to me.

And nae neighbouring heritors will daur to take us, after being turned aff thae bounds for non-enormity." "Non-conformity, hinnie," sighed Mause, "is the name that thae warldly men gie us." "Weel, aweel--we'll hae to gang to a far country, maybe twall or fifteen miles aff.

I could be a dragoon, nae doubt, for I can ride and play wi' the broadsword a bit, but ye wad be roaring about your blessing and your grey hairs." (Here Mause's exclamations became extreme.) "Weel, weel, I but spoke o't; besides, ye're ower auld to be sitting cocked up on a baggage-waggon wi' Eppie Dumblane, the corporal's wife.

Sae what's to come o' us I canna weel see--I doubt I'll hae to tak the hills wi' the wild whigs, as they ca' them, and then it will be my lo to be shot down like a mawkin at some dikeside, or to be sent to heaven wi' a Saint Johnstone's tippit about my hause." "O, my bonnie Cuddie," said the zealous Mause, "forbear sic carnal, self-seeking language, whilk is just a misdoubting o' Providence--I have not seen the son of the righteous begging his bread, sae says the text; and your father was a douce honest man, though somewhat warldly in his dealings, and cumbered about earthly things, e'en like yoursell, my jo!" "Aweel," said Cuddie, after a little consideration, "I see but ae gate for't, and that's a cauld coal to blaw at, mither.