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Mith. Dear Johnny thou's no wise man, wad tu hae the wean to be blind? the poor thing saw whan it was new born.
Jock. A what ken I mither, am no sae weel skilled as the houdies, and them that's ay habling weans; but I thought they had a' been like the wee bits o' whalpies, nine nights auld before they had seen ony.
Mith. Awa, awa, ye witless widdyfu', comparing a beast till a woman's ain bairnie: a dog is a brute beast, and a wean is a chrisen'd creature.
Jock. Na, mither, 'tis no a christened creature yet; for it has neither gotten the words nor the water; nor as little do I ken how to ca't yet.
Mar. I wat well it's a very uncanny thing to keep about a house, or yet to meet in the morning, a body wanting a name.
Mith. Hout, out ay, ye it's auld wives is fu' o' frits, an' religious fashions: them that look to frits, frits follow them; but it is six and thirty years since I was a married wife, an I never kend a Sabbath day by anither ane, mony a time till the bell rang.
Mar. Dear guidwife, what needs ye speak sae loud; Ye fright the wean wi' crying sae,—see, it starts.
Mith. Ay, ay; the bystarts is a' that way: but ken ye the reason o'that?
Mar. Ye that kens the reason of every thing may soon find out that too.
Mith. A deed than woman I'll tell you: the merry begotten weans,—it's bystarts I mean-are red wood, half witet hillocket sort o' creatures; for gif it be not ane amang twenty o' them, they're a' scar'd o' the getting, for there's few, few o' them gotten in beds like honest fouk's bairns; but in out-houses, auld barns, backs o' dykes, an kil-logies, whare there's ay some body wandering to scar poor needfu' persons at their job o' journey-wark; for weel ken I the gates o't—experience gars me speak.
Jock. A deed, mither, that's very true, for whan I was getting that wean at the black hole o' the peat stack, John Gammel's muckle black colly came in behind us wi' bow wow, of a great goul just aboon my buttocks; and as I'm a sinner, he gart me loup leveruck height, and yet we got the wean for a' that.
Mith. A weel then, Johnny, that maks my words good yet.
Jenny answers out of the bed-A shame fa' your fashions; ye hae na muckle to keep when ye tell how it was gotten, or what was at the gettin o't.
Jock. A shame fa' yoursel, Jenny, for I hae gotten my
