"Whaur did ye get it ?" He pointed to the kennel, and drew back from the door.
"I thank ye," she said heartily, and pressing down the thumbstall of the latch, went in.
"Wha's that ye're colloguin' wi', Mysie ?" asked her mother, somewhat severely, but without lifting her eyes from her wires.

"Ye maunna be speykin' to loons i' the street." "It's only wee Gibbie, mither," answered the girl in a tone of confidence.
"Ou weel!" returned the mother, "he's no like the lave o' loons." "But what had ye to say till him ?" she resumed, as if afraid her leniency might be taken advantage of.

"He's no fit company for the likes o' you, 'at his a father an' mither, an' a chop (shop).

Ye maun hae little to say to sic rintheroot laddies." "Gibbie has a father, though they say he never hid nae mither," said the child.
"Troth, a fine father!" rejoined the mother, with a small scornful laugh.

"Na, but he's something to mak mention o'! Sic a father, lassie, as it wad be tellin' him he had nane! What said ye till 'im ?" "I bit thankit 'im, 'cause I tint my drop as I gaed to the schuil i' the mornin', an' he fan't till me, an' was at the chopdoor waitin' to gie me't back.