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"H'm," she said; and then suddenly, upon rather a scolding tone, "I have your bare word for it," she cries, "as to who and what you are. By your way of it, you're Balfour of the Shaws; but for what I ken you may be Balfour of the Deevil's oxter. It's possible ye may come here for what ye say, and it's equally possible ye may come here for deil care what!
"Ye are a dauring villain, Rob," answered the Bailie; "and ye will be hanged, that will be seen and heard tell o'; but I'se ne'er be the ill bird and foul my nest, set apart strong necessity and the skreigh of duty, which no man should hear and be inobedient. And wha the deevil's this?" he continued, turning to me "Some gillravager that ye hae listed, I daur say.
And noo gien ye dinna believe me I winna answer a single question mair ye put to me. I hae been tellin ye no God's trowth, it's true, but the deevil's and it's no use, for ye winna believe a word o' 't! Phemy rose up a pygmy Fury. 'And ye laid han' to cheek o' that king o' men, Kirsty Barclay? Lord, haud me ohn killt her! Little hauds me frae riven ye to bits wi' my twa han's!
"I mean ye disloyal traitor worst of a'! Ye had better stick to your auld trade o' theft-boot and blackmail than ruining nations. And wha the deevil's this?" he continued, turning to me. Owen explained that I was young Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, the only child of the head of the house, and the Bailie, Nicol Jarvie, having undertaken Owen's release, took me home to sleep at his house.
"He's nane feckless for the deevil's wark or for his ain, which is ae thing and the same. Oot he maun gang, gin we tak' him by the scruff o' the neck and the doup o' the breeks." "Dinna jeist, Thomas, aboot sic a dangerous thing," said James, mildly glad of one solitary opportunity of rebuking the granite-minded mason. "Jeist!
A good name it is, and one it would ill-become my father's son to lightly. But I begin to grue at the sound of it." "My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for him that sent me, I will let his token speak." And I showed the silver button. "Put it in your pocket, sir!" cries he, "Ye need name no names. The deevil's buckie, I ken the button of him! And de'il hae't!
Gin ye'll tak my advice, ye'll tak a dose o' mathematics direckly. It's a fine alterative as weel as antidote, though maybe whusky's.....the verra broo o' the deevil's ain pot," he concluded, altering his tone entirely, and swallowing the rest of his glass at a gulp. "What do ye want me to do?" asked Alec. And meantime to rin doon for yer Euclid and yer Hutton, and lat's see whaur ye are."
The Deevil's Jock, as they called him, kept jumping, with his arms outspread, from one place to another, as if to receive Kelpie's charge, but when he saw her actually coming, in short, quick bounds, straight to the trench, he was seized with terror, and, half paralysed, slipped as he turned to flee, and rolled into the ditch, just in time to let Kelpie fly over his head.
But it's an accursit state a'thegither, the noo, this, o' the anonymous press oreeginally devised, ye ken, by Balaam the son o' Beor, for serving God wi'out the deevil's finding it out an' noo, after the way o' human institutions, translated ower to help folks to serve the deevil without God's finding it out.
Drawing himself up in the unconscious majesty of success, Donal Grant looked down upon Gibbie, but with eyes of admiration. "Haith, cratur!" he said, "ye're mair o' a man nor ye'll luik this saven year! What garred ye rin upo' the deevil's verra horns that gait?" Gibbie stood smiling. "Gien't hadna been for my club we wad baith be owre the mune 'gain this time. What ca' they ye, man?"
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