J. J. Bell

“ Wee Jeannie continued to apply herself to a stick of barley-sugar, and said nothing.
"She's ower wee fur to oar," said Macgregor, scornfully. " Whit wey can I no' get oarin', maw?"
"Michty me! Can ye no' tak' a tellin', laddie? See the yatts thonder! See thon big yin wi' the yella lum!"
"It's no' a lum; it's a funnel," returned Macgregor, coldly.
"Aweel, it's a' yin," said his mother, agreeably. "See thon steamboat comin' to the pier! Whit a reek! It's got yella lums—funnels—tae."
"I like rid funnels better nor yella yins. Can I get oarin' noo, maw?"
"Tits, Macgreegor! ”

“ Wullie Thomson's wee'er nor me, an' he aye gets oarin'."
"Is yer fit better?" asked Lizzie.
"Naw," said her son, hastily resuming operations. "Wullie Thomson's maw lets him oar," he added.
"I suppose ye wud shinner ha'e Wullie's maw nor yer ain," she said, glancing at her husband.
Apparently Macgregor did not hear.
"D' ye hear whit yer maw's say in', Macgreegor?" said John. "She's speirin' if ye wud like Mrs. Thomson fur yer maw instead o' hersel'."
"Nae fears," said Macgregor, promptly. "I like ma ain maw best."
"Ye're an awfu' laddie," sighed Lizzie. ”