I daur to say that--sae be I un'erstan'.

My mither says the day 'ill come whan I'll care for naething but his wull." "Yer mither 'ill be Janet Grant, I'm thinkin'! There canna be twa sic in ae country-side!" "Ye're i' the richt," answered Donal.

"Ken ye my mither ?" "I hae seen her; an' to see her 's to ken her." "Ay, gien wha sees her be sic like 's hersel'." "I canna preten' to that; but she's weel kent throu' a' the country for a God-fearin' wuman .-- An' whaur 'll ye be for the noo ?" "I'm jist upo' the tramp, luikin' for wark." "An' what may ye be pleast to ca' wark ?" "Ow, jist the communication o' what I hae the un'erstan'in' o'." "Aweel, gien ye'll condescen' to advice frae an auld wife, I'll gie ye a bit wi' ye: tak na ilka lass ye see for a born angel.

Misdoobt her a wee to begin wi'.

Hing up yer jeedgment o' her a wee.