J. J. Bell

“ After a considerable pause the grocer resumed the conversation.
"I was gaun to gi'e ye a hint, David, aboot a job that 'll likely be stairtit efter the New Year. Are ye near feenished up at Arden?"
"It 'll be twa-three weeks yet afore I'm through. It's been a big job."
"The bigger the better! Weel, the job I was gaun to tell ye aboot is a boat-hoose that Mr. Colman wants built—nane o' yer wee boat-hooses, but a big yin to haud three or fewer boats, an' it's to be done up in the best style."
"Hoo dae ye get to hear o' things?" exclaimed David, sitting up in his chair. ”

“ Houston, half humbly, half defiantly. "Were you baking scones?"
"I wisna bakin' cahootchy, onywey. Ha'e ye been tryin' onythin' in that line lately, Jess? But I suppose no', fur Davie wis lukin' weel the last time I seen him. Tits! I'm jist jokin'! Ye'll be a baker yet! Keep a licht hert an' a licht haun', an' mind the sody, an' ye'll turn oot scones fit fur angels.... My! but ye're drest the nicht, lass!" Mrs. Wallace exclaimed, as the young woman removed her jacket. ”

“ Ogilvy," put in Mrs. Houston.
"Maybe no' jist as bad," he allowed, grudgingly. "But trade's no' what it used to be. Folk never used to get a' their proveesions frae the toon; an' there was nae cairts and vans comin' ten mile to poach on ma preserves, as it were. But noo—oh, it's jist deplorable, jist deplorable! Ay—"
He was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Wallace with a huge dish of ham and eggs, which she deposited on the table before taking any notice of her guests. "Jess," she whispered to her niece, "awa' an' bring ben the tea an' toast.... Weel, Davie, hoo's things? ”

“ Hope carries a rare pair of field-glasses, and an occasional scrap of success is sufficient to keep them clean and bright.
Mrs. Wallace entered the room, bearing two plates of scones, and paused, surveying her niece's handiwork.
"Mphm!" she said at last. "That 'll dae. But did I no' tell ye Maister Ogilvy wis comin' to his tea?"
"Mr. Ogilvy?" Jess shook her head.
"Ay; Maister Ogilvy, the grocer, ye ken."
Mrs. Houston tried not to look surprised or amused. "Oh yes," she said, and retired to the cupboard. ”

“ Come awa' to the kitchen till I learn ye to fry ham an' eggs fit fur angels."
The two men arrived together, having met on the road, and Jess was despatched from the kitchen to admit them, bearing instructions regarding the wiping of boots on the outer door-mat.
"You gang in first," whispered Mr. Ogilvy, bashfully, as the door opened.
"Na, na. You're the stranger," returned David, with a courteous shove.
"How are you, Mr. Ogilvy?" said Mrs. Houston, in her friendliest fashion. "Davie, be sure and clean your boots," she added quickly to her husband.
"I'm weel, thenk ye," replied Mr. ”

“ It pits ye in what ye micht ca' an awkward poseetion. At least, I sud presoome that the poseetion wudna be a'thegither pleesant, though it's no' for me to say, seein' I'm no' vera fameeliar wi' the paurlors o' weemen folk. ”

“ I sit—onywey, I staun'—at the receipt o' custom, as it were, fur 'oors thegither, an' whiles I never turn a copper. The ither day—Tuesday, I think it was—there was naebody cam' ower ma doorstep frae twal' o'clock noon till three p.m. but twa weans. Yin was a laddie speirin' for a bit string; the ither was a lassie wantin' change for a penny. D'ye ca' that trade?"
"But it's not always so bad, Mr. ”