Where ye'll never more have care."
"Very nice, Jan. Now you'll better set about composing a verse for me."
"A' richt," she laughed, "we'll mak a line each, and here's the first one:—
"'He was goin' to be marrit, but he dee'd afore his time
"You mak the next line, Annie."
"'And Jim Jackson ate so muckle at the funeral that he got a sair wime.'"
"Nane o' yer lip," growled Jim.
"Come on, Gladys," I said, "third line."
"'He dee'd o' effielinza, and he'll no hae ony mair pain."
"Last line, Ellen!"