Muckle guid wad ony pardon dee to sic! But ance lat them un'erstan' 'at he canna forgie them, an' maybe they'll be fleyt, an' turn again' the Sawtan 'at's i' them." "Weel, but he's no my enemy," said the youth.
"No your enemy!" returned his mother; "-- no your enemy, an' sair (serve) a bairn like that! My certy! but he's the enemy o' the haill race o' mankin'.

He trespasses unco sair against me, I'm weel sure o' that! An' I'm glaid o' 't.

I'm glaid 'at he has me for ane o' 's enemies, for I forgie him for ane; an' wuss him sae affrontit wi' himsel' er' a' be dune, 'at he wad fain hide his heid in a midden." "Noo, noo, mither!" said the eldest son, who had not yet spoken, but whose countenance had been showing a mighty indignation, "that's surely as sair a bannin' as yon 'at Jock said." "What, laddie! Wad ye hae a fellow-cratur live to a' eternity ohn been ashamed o' sic a thing 's that?
Wad that be to wuss him weel?
Kenna ye 'at the mair shame the mair grace?
My word was the best beginnin' o' better 'at I cud wuss him.

Na, na, laddie! frae my verra hert, I wuss he may be that affrontit wi' himsel' 'at he canna sae muckle as lift up's een to h'aven, but maun smite upo' 's breist an' say, 'God be mercifu' to me a sinner!' That's my curse upo' him, for I wadna hae 'im a deevil.

Whan he comes to think that shame o' himsel', I'll tak him to my hert, as I tak the bairn he misguidit.