But I doobt it's dark.

I'll gang wi' ye .-- Jean, my shune!" "Na, na; I could gang hame blinlins," remonstrated Annie.
"Haud yer tongue.

I'm gaein hame wi' ye, bairn .-- Jean, my shune!" "Hoot, Thamas! I've jist cleaned them," screeched Jean from the kitchen at the second call.
"Fess them here direckly.

It's a jeedgment on ye for sayin' worship cud bide better nor the shune." Janet brought them and put them down sulkily.

In another minute the great shoes, full of nails half an inch broad, were replaced on the tired feet, and with her soft little hand clasped in the great horny hand of the stonemason, Annie trotted home by his side.