What if he did not intend going to church the next day?
Was that any reason why he should not look a little tidier when his hard week's-work was over, and his nightly habit was turned into the comparatively harmless indulgence of a Saturday, in sure hope of the day of rest behind.
"Troth, I didna min' 'at it was Setterday," he answered.

"I wuss I had pitten on a clean sark, an' washen my face.

But I s' jist gang ower to the barber's an' get a scrape, an' maybe some o' them 'ill be here or I come back." Mistress Croale knew perfectly that there was no clean shirt in George's garret.

She knew also that the shirt he then wore, which probably, in consideration of her maid's festered hand, she would wash for him herself, was one of her late husband's which she had given him.

But George's speech was one of those forms of sound words held fast by all who frequented Mistress Croale's parlour, and by herself estimated at more than their worth.
The woman had a genuine regard for Galbraith.