She said, says she, that was naething to her, an' she wad hae no brithers.

My sister micht come whiles, she said, gien she camna ower aften; but lasses had naething to dee wi' brithers.

Wha was to tell wha was or wha wasna my brither?
I tellt her 'at a' my brithers was weel kenned for douce laads; an' she tellt me to haud my tongue, an' no speyk up; an' I cud hae jist gien her a guid cloot o' the lug--I was that angert wi' her." "She'll be soary for't some day," said Janet, with a quiet smile; "an' what a body's sure to be soary for, ye may as weel forgie them at ance." "Hoo ken ye, mither, she'll be soary for't ?" asked Nicie, not very willing to forgive Mistress Mac Farlane.
"'Cause the Maister says 'at we'll hae to pey the uttermost fardin'.
There's naebody 'ill be latten aff.

We maun dee oor neiper richt." "But michtna the Maister himsel' forgie her ?" suggested Nicie, a little puzzled.
"Lassie," said her mother solemnly, "ye dinna surely think 'at the Lord's forgifness is to lat fowk aff ohn repentit?
That wad be a strange fawvour to grant them! He winna hurt mair nor he can help; but the grue (horror) maun mak w'y for the grace.

I'm sure it was sae whan I gied you yer whups, lass.