the bigness of a nut of C--l S--p, drops it into the pot, then went off to bed in the barn as fast as ⟨I⟩ could, and made fast both the doors within, lest the bewitched sowens, out of the pot should attack me in my sleep. Next morning when I came in, the goodwife began to pray for herself and all that she had, saying, It's Wednesday through a'the warld and good be between me and you chapman, for ye're either a witch or a warlock, or something that's no canny, for ye witcht our sowens last night, were very good when I left them, tho I did not prie them, and I wish'd them as for they gaed mad, rag'd out the pot, belling and bizzing like barm, I thought they wad run out to the barn to you; see how they fill'd up my milk-tub, and a' the dishes in the house is fu' o' them. Dear goodwife, said I, they much good of them as I got, but certainly they're not witcht, but a blessing in them, when they are so multiplied. Gae awa, cried she, in a passion, ye're no canny, ye's ne'er be here again. I need not value that, said I, for I have nothing to thank you for, but my dinner, supper, and breakfast, and for a night of your barn, I'll pay it when I come back. Ay, ay, said she, ye need nae thank me for what ye did not get. That's no my fault, goodless goodwife, said I, prosperity to you and your witch'd sowens.
The next little town I came to, and the first house which I entered, the wife cried out, Plague on your snout Sir, ye filthy black-guard chapmen like b---h ye are, the last time ye came here, ye gard our Sandy burn the good bane-kame, it I gide a sax- pence for in Falkirk, ay did ye, ay, sae did ye cen, and said, ye would gie him a muckle clear button to do it. Me, said I, I never had ado with you a' the days of my life, and do not say that Sandy is mine. A wae worth the body, am I saying ye hade ado' wi' me, I wadna hae ado wi' the like o' you, not
