Yer ower fond o' red ribbons, laal thing.

It's aff with her apron and on with her bonnet, iv'ry chance.

I reckon ye'd like a silk gown, ye wad." "Never mind my clothes," said Liza.

Mrs.Garth gave her no time to say more, for, at the full pitch of indignation, she turned to Rotha, and added: "And ye're a rare pauchtie damsel.

Ye might have been bred at Court, you as can't muck a byre." "Go home to bed, old Cuddy Garth," said Liza, "and sup more poddish, and take some of the wrinkles out of your wizzent skin." "Setting yer cap at the Rays boys," continued Mrs.Garth, "but it'll be all of no use to ye, mark my word.