an helping her on, foul, fat, an dirty was the road, leaving like half a t--d at every tedder length.
Jock. Deed, mither, I doubt death has something to do wi' you, for there's a rumbling in your wame like an auld wife kirning.
Mith. Hout, tout, I canna hear o't, but they'll be nae fear o'me now, I'm safe at my ain door, thanks to thee an the auld beast it brought me; heat my feet wi' the bannock stane, an lay me in my bed, fling four pair o' blankets an a cann'os on me, I'll be weel enough an ance I were better, swieth Maggy gae mak me a cogfu' o' milk brose, an a plack's worth of spice in them, nae fear of an auld wife as lang as she's loose behin, an can tak meat.
Jock. I sae be't, mither, a e'en fill up the boss o' your belly, you'll stand the storm the better, I'se warran ye never die as lang as ye can tak meat.
Ben comes Maggy wi' the brose; but four soups an a slag fill'd her to the teeth, till she began to bock them back again, an ding awa' the dish.
Jock. A mither, mither, I doubt there's mair ado wi' you nor a dish to lick; when ye refuse guid milk meat, I'm doubtfu' your mouth be gaun to the mules.
Mither. A dear Johnny, I'm no willen to die if I cou'd do better; but this will be a fair winter on auld frail fouks, yet an I wou'd grow better I might live these twenty years yet, an be nae auld wife for a' that: but alake a day there is e'en mony auld fouk dying this year.
Jock. A deed, mither, there is fouk dying the year that never died before.
Mit. Dear Johnny, wilt thou bring me the doctor, he may do me some guid, for an my heart warna sick an my head sair, I think I may grow better yet.
Jock. Weel, mither, I'se bring the doctor, the minister, an my uncle.
Mit. Na, na, bring nae ministers to me, his dry crucks, ill do me but little guid, I dinna want to
