But there's my Anerew--he'll sit yon'er at his wark, thinkin' by the hoor thegither ower something the Maister said 'at he canna win at the richts o'.

'Depen' upo' 't,' he says whiles, 'depen' upo' 't, lass, whaur onything he says disna luik richt to hiz, it maun be 'at we haena won at it!'" As she ended, her husband came in, and took up what he fancied the thread of the dialogue.
"An' what are we to think o' the man," he said, "at's content no to un'erstan' what he was at the trible to say?
Wad he say things 'at he didna mean fowk to un'erstan' whan he said them ?" "Weel, Anerew," said his wife, "there's mony a thing he said 'at I can not un'erstan'; naither am I muckle the better for your explainin' o' the same; I maun jist lat it sit." Andrew laughed his quiet pleased laugh.
"Weel, lass," he said, "the duin' o' ae thing 's better nor the un'erstan'in' o' twenty.

Nor wull ye be lang ohn un'erstan't muckle 'at's dark to ye noo; for the maister likes nane but the duer o' the word, an' her he likes weel.

Be blythe, lass; ye s' hae yer fill o' un'erstan'in' yet!" "I'm fain to believe ye speyk the trowth, Anerew!" "It 's great trowth," said Donal..