"I want to see Davie, and die, gudeman!"
"You'll no dare to speak o' dying, wife, until the Lord gies you occasion; and Davie maun drink as he's brewed."
"Nay, gudeman, but you brewed for him; the lad is drinking the cup you mixed wi' your ain hands."
"I did my duty by him."
"He had ower muckle o' your duty, and ower little o' your indulgence. If Davie was wrang, ither folk werena right. Every fault has its forefault."
Andrew looked in amazement at this woman, who for thirty and more years had never before dared to oppose his wishes, and to whom his word had been law.
"Davie's wrang-doing was weel kent, gude-wife; he hasted to sin like a moth to a candle."
"It's weel that our faults arena written i' our faces."
"I hae fallen on evil days, Mysie; saxty years syne wives and bairns werena sae contrarie."
"There was gude and bad then, as now, gudeman."