And, ye see, she has the bleachgreen yet.' 'She doesna weir cotton sarks,' growled MacGregor.

'Mony's the wob o' mine she's bleached and boucht tu!' Nobody heeding him yet, he began to feel insulted, and broke in upon the conversation with intent.
'Ye haena telt 's yet, Cocker,' he said, 'what that maister o' yours is duin' here at this time o' the year.

I wad ken that, gin ye please.' 'How should I know, Mr.MacGregor ?' returned the factor, taking no notice of the offensive manner in which the question was put.
'He's no a hair better nor ane o' thae Algerine pirates 'at Lord Exmooth's het the hips o'-- and that's my opingon.' 'He's nae amo' your feet, MacGregor,' said the banker.

'Ye micht jist lat him lie.' 'Gin I had him doon, faith gin I wadna lat him lie! I'll jist tell ye ae thing, gentlemen, that cam' to my knowledge no a hunner year ago.

An' it's a' as true 's gospel, though I hae aye held my tongue aboot it till this verra nicht.