jist Fife
bodies, and a lass canna get her tongue roun' their thrapple-taxin'
words ava', so it's like I may een drap a' the sweetness o' my good
mither-tongue.

'Tis a dulefu' nicht, and an awfu' blash is ragin' wi'oot. Fanny's awa'
at the gowff rinnin' aboot wi' a bag o' sticks after a wee bit ba', and
Sally and I are hame by oor lane. Laith will the lassie be to weet her
bonny shoon, but lang ere the play'll be ower she'll wat her hat aboon.
A gust o' win' is skirlin' the noo, and as we luik ower the faem, the
haar is risin', weetin' the green swaird wi' misty shoo'rs.

Yestreen was a calm simmer gloamin', sae sweet an' bonnie that when the
sun was sinkin' doon ower Pettybaw Sands we daundered ower the muir.
As we cam' through the scented birks, we saw a trottin' burnie wimplin'
'neath the white-blossomed slaes and hirplin' doon the hillside;
an' while a herd-laddie lilted ower the fernie brae, a cushat cooed
leesomely doon i' the dale. We pit aff oor shoon, sae blithe were we,
kilted oor coats a little aboon the knee, and paidilt i' the burn,
gettin' geyan weet the while. Then Sally pu'd the gowans wat wi' dew an'
twined her bree wi' tasselled broom, while I had a wee crackie wi' Tibby
Buchan, the flesher's dochter frae Auld Reekie. Tibby's nae giglet gawky
like the lave, ye ken,--she's a sonsie maid, as sweet as ony hinny pear,
wi' her twa pawky een an' her cockernony snooded up fu' sleek.

We were unco gleg to win hame when a' this was dune, an' after steekin'
the door, to sit an' birsle oor taes at the bit blaze. Mickle thocht we
o' the gentles ayont the sea, an' sair grat we for a' frien's we kent
lang syne in oor ain countree.

Late at nicht, Fanny, the bonny gypsy, cam' ben the hoose an' tirled at
the pin of oor bigly bower door, speirin' for baps and bannocks.

"Hoots, lassie!" cried oot Sally, "th' auld carline i' the kitchen is i'
her box-bed, an' weel aneuch ye ken is lang syne cuddled doon."

"Oo ay!" said Fanny, strikin' her curly pow, "then fetch me parritch,
an' dinna be lang wi' them, for I've lickit a Pettybaw lad at the gowff,
an' I could eat twa guid jints o' beef gin I had them!"

"Losh girl," said I, "gie ower makin' sic a mickle din. Ye ken verra
weel ye'll get nae parritch the nicht. I'll rin and fetch ye a 'piece'
to stap awee the soun'."

"Blethers an' havers!" cried Fanny, but she blinkit bonnily the while,
an' when the tea was weel maskit, she smoored her wrath an' stappit her
moo