Gien he be the life o' me, what for sud I trible mysel' aboot that life ?" "Ay, lass! but gien ye hed this ashmy, makin' a' yer breist as gien 'twar lined wi' the san' paper 'at they hed been lichtin' a thoosan' or twa lucifer spunks upo'-- ye micht be driven to forget 'at the Lord was yer life--for I can tell ye it's no like haein his breith i' yer nostrils." "Eh, my bonny laad!" returned Janet with infinite tenderness, "I micht weel forget it! I doobt I wadna be half sae patient as yersel'; but jist to help to haud ye up, I s' tell ye what I think I wad ettle efter.

I wad say to mysel' Gien he be the life o' me, I hae no business wi' ony mair o' 't nor he gies me.

I hae but to tak ae breath, be 't hard, be 't easy, ane at a time, an' lat him see to the neist himsel'.

Here I am, an' here's him; an' 'at he winna lat's ain wark come to ill, that I'm weel sure o'.

An' ye micht jist think to yersel', Robert, 'at as ye are born intil the warl', an' here ye are auld intil't--ye may jist think, I say, 'at hoo ye're jist new-born an auld man, an' beginnin' to grow yoong, an' 'at that's yer business.