We hae nae business to luik til her for naething! No 'at she's aye like that; but it comes sae aft 'at at last we daur hardly open oor moo's for the fear o' hoo she'll tak it.

Only a' the time it's mair as gien she was flingin' something frae her, something she didna like an' wud fain be rid o', than 'at she cared sae verra muckle aboot onything we said no til her min'.

She taks a haud o' the words, no doobt! but I canna help thinkin' 'at 'maist whatever we said, it wud be the same.

Something to compleen o' 's never wantin' whan ye're ill-pleast a'ready!" "It's no the duin' o' the richt, ye see," said the cobbler, "-- I mean, that's no itsel' the en', but the richt humour o' the sowl towards a' things thoucht or felt or dune! That's richteousness, an' oot o' that comes, o' the verra necessity o' natur', a' richt deeds o' whatever kin'.

Whaur they comena furth, it's whaur the sowl, the thoucht o' the man 's no richt.