"For ony sake, Bawbie," he brook in, "dinna say naething the nicht, or I'll pushon or droon mysel'. I wiss I had been smored amo' thae eggs"; an' doon the stair he gaed, wi' his breeks in his oxter.
I juist had to g'wa' to my bed an' lat a'thing aleen, an' I ac'ually grat mysel' ower asleep. I didna ken o' Sandy comin' till his bed ava; an' when I raise i' the mornin' a' thing was cleared awa', an' the garret an' backshop a' sweepit an' in order, an' Sandy was busy i' the yaird hackin' sticks, an' whistlin' "Hey, Jockie Mickdonal'," juist's as gin naethin' had happened. He's been stickin' in like a hatter ever sin' syne, an' has a'thing as neat's ninepence; so I canna say a single wird. But is't no raley something terriple?
XIII.
SANDY AND BAWBIE'S SPRING HOLIDAY.
Spring holiday! Wheesht! I'll no' forget it in a hurry, I can tell you. But I never saw't different. Holidays are juist a perfeck scunner, as far as I've haen to do wi' them; an' as for the rest—I'm shure I'm aye tireder efter a holiday than at the tailend o' a hard day's wark. I'm juist a' sair the day wi' sittin' i' the train; an' yesterday nicht I cud hardly move oot o' the bit, I was that dune.
But I maun tell you the story frae the beginnin'. You've mibby heard me speak aboot Meg Mortimer's mither that used to bide at The Drum. Meg's in a big wey o' doin' noo in Edinboro; but I've seen the day, I'm thinkin'! Weel div I mind when her mither flitted ower frae Powsoddie. She cam' along to oor hoose to seek the len' o' twa kists, juist to gie her flittin' some appearance on the cairts. Ay did she, noo-na-na! What think ye o' that? They were as puir's I kenna what, an' mony a puckle meal did they get oot o' oor girnil, for Dauvid Mortimer was a nice man, altho' he was terriple hudden doon wi' the reums.
Weel, Meg gaed awa' to service, an' fell in wi' a weeda man wi' three o' a faimly. I can ashure you there's nae tume kists in her hoose noo. She has a big wey o' doin'. Her man's a kind o' heid pillydakus amon' a lot o' naveys, makin' railroads, and main drains, an' so on. He's made a heap o' bawbees. Mester Blair's his name. They bide in a big hoose doon about the Meadows in Edinboro, an' they have a big servant, and twa dogs; forby a bit lassockie to look efter the bairns.
Meg was throo seein' her fowk no' that lang syne, an' she wud hae me to promise to come throo wi' Sandy an' see them. She wudna hae a na-say. She was aye an awfu' tague for tonguein', Meg. I mind when she was but ten 'ear auld, me, that was saxteen or seventeen 'ear aulder, cudna haud the can'le till her. She was a gabbin' little taed. Weel, rizzen be't or neen, she fair dang me into sayin' I wud come wi' Sandy an' see her at the spring holiday; an' so we juist had to go.
Sandy gaed on juist like a clockin' hen a' Sabbath efternune an' nicht. He had the upstairs bed lippin' fu' o' luggitch that he was thinkin' o' takin' wi' him. A body wudda thocht he was settiu' aff for a crooze roond the North Pole, instead o' on a veesit to Edinboro. He was rubbin' up his buits, an' syne brethin' on them, an' rubbin' them up again, an' settin' himsel' back an' lookin' at himsel' in them. He's a prood bit stockie, Sandy, mind ye, when there's naebody lookin'. He had a' his goshore suit hung oot on the backs o' chairs a' roond the hoose. It lookit like's there was genna be a sale or a raffle or something.