It's a sair thing for wife an' bairns when the guid man canna keep awa' frae the glass; an' when the scent of the whusky comes to me it's just as though I hae'd the throat o' a Loch Tay salmon; it just gaes doon an' doon, an' there's nae filling o' me." "Ay, but ye're a guid man when ye're sober, Davie." "Maybe I'll be that, Jennie, if I'm nae disturbed." "An' ye'll bide wi' me, Davie, an' work for me ?" "I see nae reason why I shouldna bide wi' yet Jennie; but dinna ye clack aboot work to me, for I just canna bear the thoct o't." "Anyhow, ye'll do your best, Davie?
As the minister says, nae man can do mair than that." "An' it's a puir best that mine'll be, Jennie, and I'm nae sae sure ye'll hae ower muckle even o' that.

We're a' weak, sinfu' creatures, Jennie, an' ye'd hae some deefficulty to find a man weaker or mair sinfu' than mysel'." "Weel, weel, ye hae a truthfu' tongue, Davie.

Mony a lad will mak fine promises to a puir lassie, only to break 'em an' her heart wi' 'em.

Ye speak me fair, Davie, and I'm thinkin' I'll just tak ye, an' see what comes o't." Concerning what did come of it, the story is silent, but one feels that under no circumstances had the lady any right to complain of her bargain.
Whether she ever did or did not--for women do not invariably order their tongues according to logic, nor men either for the matter of that--Davie, himself, must have had the satisfaction of reflecting that all reproaches were undeserved.
I wish to be equally frank with the reader of this book.

I wish here conscientiously to let forth its shortcomings.