Jock. Mither, mither, gie's nane o' your moak; and malice, for tho' I got the wean, ye hae as muckle the wyte o't as I. Gae seek me out my three new sarks, and Sunday's shune, and I'se gae whar ne'er man saw my face before; neither wood, water nor wilderness, saul haud me again.
Mit. My braw man Johnny, ye manna do that, staying at hame wi' me, an set a stent heart to a stay brae I'se gae to the session wi' you, gang whau' ye like.
Jock. A well, mithur, I sall do your bidding for ance yet, but when the minister flytes on me, answer ye him, for I canna speak well again.
Mit. Say nae mair, I hae a pockfu' o' perfect petitions to louse an put to him an his elders, and if thou maun gae to their black-stool, it's no be thy lane sall sit upon't.
Jock. But, mither, whether sall I deny the doing o't; or confess the game was at the getting o't.
Mit. Ay, ay, confess ye did it, but say but ance, an that was on the terms o' marriage, the way that a' our kintry bystarts is gotten.
Now Jockey being three times summon'd to the session and did not appear, the session insisted for a warrant from the justice of the peace, which was readily granted, more for diversion than justice sake; the warrant being given to John King, the constable, who went away with Clinkem Bell, on Saturday's morning, and catched John just at his brose, hauls him awa, ane at ilka oxter like twa butcher dogs hinging at a bill's beard, his mither followed, driving him up with good counsel, my bra' man Johnny, haud up your head, an dinna think shame, for a' your fauts is but perfect honesty, you're neither a thief, whore, nor horse-stealer.
Then Maggy ran for uncle Rabby, an uncle Rabby sent for Sandy the Souter of Seggyhole, the Souter saddled his mare, an uncle Rabby got aff at the gallop on his gray powney, west the hags, an o'er by Whitehill shugh, the nearest, and was at Sir James
B 2
