We s' ca' the room yours. Come as aften as ye
can. It does my Anerew's hert guid to hae a crack wi' ane 'at kens
something o' what the Maister wad be at. Mony ane 'll ca' him Lord,
but feow 'ill tak the trible to ken what he wad hae o' them. But
there's my Anerew--he'll sit yon'er at his wark, thinkin' by the
hoor thegither ower something the Maister said 'at he canna win at
the richts o'. 'Depen' upo' 't,' he says whiles, 'depen' upo' 't,
lass, whaur onything he says disna luik richt to hiz, it maun be 'at
we haena won at it!'"
As she ended, her husband came in, and took up what he fancied the
thread of the dialogue.
"An' what are we to think o' the man," he said, "at's content no to
un'erstan' what he was at the trible to say? Wad he say things 'at
he didna mean fowk to un'erstan' whan he said them?" "Weel, Anerew,"
said his wife, "there's mony a thing he said 'at I can not
un'erstan'; naither am I muckle the better for your explainin' o'
the same; I maun jist lat it sit."
Andrew laughed his quiet pleased laugh.
"Weel, lass," he said, "the duin' o' ae thing 's better nor the
un'erstan'in' o' twenty. Nor wull ye be lang ohn un'erstan't muckle
'at's dark to ye noo; for the maister likes nane but the duer o' the
word, an' her he likes weel. Be blythe, lass; ye s' hae yer fill o'
un'erstan'in' yet!"
"I'm fain to believe ye speyk the trowth, Anerew!"
"It 's great trowth," said Donal.
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