28 “Ay, Loard,” saed she, “but still wi aa, e'en tha wee dugs unnèr tha table gits aitin tha weans' crumbs.”
that ye micht be childèr o yer Faither ïn heiven. He maks hïs sin tae rise on tha wïckit as weel as on tha guid, an he senns rain on thaim that daes whut's richt, as weel as on tha yins that daesnae.
“Ay, Loard, that's richt” she saed, “but still wi aa, e'en tha wee dugs gits aitin tha crumbs that faa frae thair maistèrs' boord!”
“A shud gie tha weans thair fïll furst,” he saed tae hir, “fer ït's no richt tae tak tha weans' breid an clod ït tae tha wee dugs!”
“That's a guid answer, an becas o ït,” qo he til hir, “whan ye gae bak hame ye'll fin tha ïll spïrit haes left yer dochtèr.”