"And hoo's the rottans?"
"Ower weel and thrivin'."
"Jist pit yer han' i' my coat-pooch, and see what I hae broucht ye."
Knowing Curly's propensities, Annie refused.
"It's a wild beast," said Curly. "I'll lat it oot upo' ye. It was it 'at made a' that roarin' i' the plantin'."
So saying, he pulled out of his pocket the most delicate tortoiseshell kitten, not half the beauty of which could be perceived in the gloamin, which is all the northern summer night. He threw it at Annie, but she had seen enough not to be afraid to catch it in her hands.
"Did ye fess this a' the road frae Spinnie to me, Curly?"
"Ay did I, Annie. Ye see I dinna like rottans. But ye maun haud it oot o' their gait for a feow weeks, or they'll rive't a' to bits. It'll sune be a match for them though, I s' warran'. She comes o' a killin' breed."
Annie took the kitten home, and it shared her bed that night.
"What's that meowlin?" asked Bruce the next morning, the moment he rose from the genuflexion of morning prayers.