At times he pressed his hands to his heart, and then he would make wry faces, trying hard to cry.

Chirsty watched from a window across the street, until she perhaps began to fear that she really was dead.

Unable to stand it any longer, she rushed out into her husband's arms, and shortly afterwards she could have been seen dismantling the tables.
"She's gone this fower year," Tammas said, when he had finished his story, "but up to the end I had no more trouble wi' Chirsty.

No, I had the knack o' her." "I've heard tell, though," said the sceptical Craigiebuckle, "as Chirsty only cam back to ye because she cudna bear to see the fowk makkin' sae free wi' the whisky." "I mind hoo she bottled it up at ance, and drove the laddies awa'," said Bowie, "an' I hae seen her after that, Tammas, giein' ye up yer fut an' you no sayin' a word." "Ou, ay," said the wife-tamer, in the tone of a man who could afford to be generous in trifles, "women maun talk, an' a man hasna aye time to conterdick them, but frae that day I had the knack o' Chirsty." "Donal Elshioner's was a very seemilar case," broke in Snecky Hobart, shrilly.

"Maist o' ye'll mind 'at Donal was michty plague't wi' a drucken wife.