Oliver Onions

“ De'il tak' me if th' Lad-lass isna mair a man nor onny o' em! But woman maist: O Harry!—Awa' wi' thee now! I'll go smear Bessie, an' ye maun off o' th' mare. Here's brass—an' bless ye!”
She was off with her hand at her breast.
“Where is he?” the farmer roared. He was at Harry's elbow, but did not recognise him; and Harriet drew Bessie towards the tree where the mare stood, and fouled her face. “Up ye get; leave room for him i' front; he can swing up by th' branch. Nay, he'd best lead her ower by yon pasture.” Bessie flung her arms about Harriet's neck. ”

“ De'il tak' me, he lo'es thee; up-saddle an' off! Rebecca wadna mell on ye; 'tis for the poor fowk she sweeps—th' poor fowk that bides at home an' pays under th' Pike Act for th' roads that th' rich gads about on. Has—has he said he lo'es ye?”
“Ay, a thousand times!” Harriet closed her eyes for a moment.
“Then, up an' off, wer't i' thy sark! Harry wad never ha' had me, e'en if I'd ha' had him; I'm naughbut an owd shoe to fling at others' weddings; I'm ... up an' off, to-neet, Bessie; 'tis odds a blacksmith can weld as strong a hoop as a parson!” ”

“ The farmer churned angrily, and she watched him keenly.
“Then by ——, he shall,” he cried, “or I'll sell out and build a kirk!”
“Th' Butlers'll build a lot o' kirks,” she remarked drily. “Wad I ha' him? Well, I'll answer him that when he asks me; but I'll answer ye this now, Henry: They say th' De'il likes to muck o' a gurt lump, an' th' twa farms wad mak' a pretty property; but a bonnie thing 'twad be to hear th' love he'd whisper to th' flawpin' Lad-lass Harriet Stubbs! 'My own four-hundred acre! My darlin' twenty-score head o' beasts! ”

“ Harriet winced, and fixed her shrewish eyes on Bessie.
“So that's thy forgettin' him that's another's! Well, I bless th' Lord for every freckle I've got, for ye red and black witches, good men losses their heads at th' blink o' th' de'il i' your een! Scotland! ”

“ Get thy face washed, Harriet Stubbs, an' seek a house an' mak' a decent woman o' thyself, an' cover them shallacky ankles, for thou's a offald thing i' th' dayleet. Speed ye, Harry! Happen he'll call th' bairn Harriet—or Harry—th' Lad-lass wad serve for auther—an' 'tis better nor calling mine Bessie.—Now I'll find Henry. ”

“ And now kiss me afore I go find him.—Th' hengments! What's yon?”
A sudden new roaring and crackling had broken forth from the toll-house. The roof stones had crashed through the burnt baulks, and from the standing walls fountains of fire and sparks shot high into the sky, as if from a huge Jack-in-the-box. The rioters shouted and danced madly, the old pike-keeper looked up with a dazed look, and the birds hopped in the illuminated trees. “Now I'll send him, while that's amusin' 'em,” Harriet muttered; she pressed Bessie's hand—all of her she could reach—against her cheek for a moment ”

“ They began to strip walls, to tear up matting, to bundle out bed and bedding, tables and chairs, and pans, and crockery. Others set faggots against the bar-gate, the wooden window-shuts, and the fuel-shed at the back of the house ”