Not Going

The village joiner was nearing his end.  The family was all in attendance, and it seemed clear to all that the old man was finally breathing his last.  Controlling her emotion, his wife ventured to mention the question of funeral arrangements to her eldest son.

   "We'll best juist get Lachie Morrison fir awthin. Yir faither an him werena sae vera frienlie bit....."

She was interrupted by a voice from the bed.  Raising himself on his elbow, stubborn to the last, he managed to say -

   "Git that craitur Morrison ti mak the coffin gin ye like.  Bit gin ye dae, A'll no pit a fit in't."

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