He maun smell the brunstane o' the everlastin' burnin's.

He's nane o' yer saft buirds, that ye can sleek wi' a sweyp o' yer airm; he's a blue whunstane that's hard to dress, but, anes dressed, it bides the weather bonnie.

I like to work upo' hard stane mysel.

Nane o' yer saft freestane, 'at ye cud cut wi' a k-nife, for me!" "Weel, I daursay ye're richt, Thamas." "And, forbye, they say he took a' his ain licks ohn said a word, and flew at the maister only whan he was gaein to lick the puir orphan lassie--Jeames Anderson's lassie, ye ken." "Ow! ay.

It's the same tale they a' tell.