did o' the haggies when she sippet it a', and crap in o' the bag.
If ye winna christen the wean, ye canna hinder us to cast a cogfu' o' water on the face o't, and ca't ony thing we like.
So out she goes shooting Jockey before her, so John went an pisht on the auld minister's widow's gavel, an there was nae mair about it that day.
PART IV.
NOW Jockey an his mither came hame the gether, cheek for chow, cracking like twa handguns.
Mith. I trow I have fought a battle this day, an won the field condingly, when I hae conquer'd a' the canker'd carles about the kirk.
Jock. Indeed, mither, I think ye are a better man nor the minister, an gin ye had Arithmattock an Latin, to ken the kittle figures, you might preach as well as he.
Mith. I trow, Jock lad, their black stool o' sham repentance ne'er got sic a rattle as I hae gient the day.
Jock. Na, na, mither, a' the whoremongers that ever set a hip on't kens na sae meikle about the auld foundation o't as ye do.
Mith. But, Johnny man, an thou wad start on Munday, ye an I wad go an see the daft jade, Jenny the mither o't.
Jock. Wi' a' my heart, mither, but we maun giet something, an it were an auld servet, or an auld sark, to keep the hips o't warm, young weans is ay wet a bout the a--se ye ken.
Mith. A well then, Johnny, I'se cry to thee whan the hens begin to keckle, an that's about the break o' day, and we's be ready to tak the road again Torryburn day light, when we'll ken a t--d by a stane.
Up gets auld Maggy, Jock's mither, in the morning, puts on the kettle, an maks her Yool brose; the meikle pot hung on the fire a' night wi' the cheek
