They're biggin a boat, sir; and they like to hae me by them, as they big, to say sangs to them.

And I like it richt weel." "It'll be a lucky boat, surely," said the minister, "to rise to the sound of rhyme, like some old Norse war-ship." "I dinna ken, sir," said Annie, who certainly did not know what he meant.
Now the minister's acquaintance with any but the classic poets was very small indeed; so that, when he got up and stood before his book-shelves, with the design of trying what he could do for her, he could think of nobody but Milton.
So he brought the _Paradise Lost_ from its place, where it had not been disturbed for years, and placing it before her on the table, for it was a quarto copy, asked her if that would do.

She opened it slowly and gently, with a reverential circumspection, and for the space of about five minutes, remained silent over it, turning leaves, and tasting, and turning, and tasting again.

At length, with one hand resting on the book, she turned to Mr Cowie, who was watching with much interest and a little anxiety the result of the experiment, and said gently and sorrowfully: "I dinna think this is the richt buik for me, sir.

There's nae sang in't that I can fin' out.