Three hoors an' a hauf sin' I startit awa',
An Deil faurer forrit was I!
Govy-ding! It's nae mows for the heid o' the hoose
When the mistress has yokit to cry!
A set o' mis-chanters like what I'd come through
The strongest o' spirits would tame,
I was ettlin' to greet as I stude in the street
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame!
But a voice that I kent soondit richt in my lug,
Frae my he'rt it fair lifted a load
As I tells him my story, for wha should he be
But the factor's son hame frae abroad.
"It's a brute of a night, but to doctor's my trade,
If ye'll have me, my laddie, I'm game!"
An' he druve his ain trap seeven mile through the snaw
That nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.
Ay! an' cracked like a pen-gun the hail o' the road
An' though I was prooder than ask,
When he fand I was grewsin' awa' at his side
He filled me near fou frae his flask.
Syne when a' thing was owre an' I gruppit his han'
Says the wife, "We maun gie him the name!"
An' there's aye been a gude word for him i' the hoose
Sin' the nicht that the bairnie cam' hame.
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