George MacDonald

Salted with Fire George MacDonald

Whaur are ye aff til this bonny mornin', Maggie, my doo?" said the soutar, looking up from his work, and addressing his daughter as she stood in the doorway with her shoes in her hand. "Jist ower to Stanecross, wi' yer leave, father, to speir the mistress for a goupin or twa o' chaff: yer bed aneth ye's grown unco hungry-like." "Hoot, the bed's weel eneuch, lassie!" "Na, it's onything but weel eneuch! It's my pairt to luik efter my ain father, and see there be nae k-nots aither in his bed or his parritch." "Ye're jist yer mither owre again, my lass!-Weel, I winna miss ye that sair, for the minister 'ill be in this mornin'." "Hoo ken ye that, father?"