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"Stan' still," said Peter, "or I ha'e a han'fu' o' twine i' my pooch 'at I'll jist cast a k-not aboot yer airms wi' in a jiffey." His lordship stood still, muttering curses. Then Malcolm stepped into the middle of the room approaching his sister.
Div ye think there's ane o' them 'at gied to Grizzie,'at wad hae gi'en less though what less nor the han'fu' o' meal, which was a' she ever got, it wad be hard to imaigine had they kent it was for the life o' auld Glenwarlock a name respeckit, an' mair nor respeckit, whaurever it's h'ard? or for the life o' the yoong laird, vroucht to deith wi' labourers' wark, an' syne 'maist smoored i' storm? or for auld Jeames Gracie,'at's led a God-fearin' life till he's 'maist ower auld to live ony langer?
Sae we a' gang to the weddin' an' eats an' drinks plenty, an' pays for a' 'at we hae; and they mak' a guid profit out o' 't, for the things doesna cost them nearhan' sae muckle as we pay. So they hae a guid han'fu' ower for the plenishin'." "And what do they give you to eat and drink?" asked the girl, making talk. "Ow, skate an' mustard to eat, an' whusky to drink," answered the lad, laughing.
'It's queer 'at things winna gang up ohn hauden them doon. Pu' a guid han'fu' o' clover, Shargar. She's had her fa', an' noo she'll gang up a' richt. She's nane the waur o' 't. Upon the next attempt, the kite rose triumphantly.
It's but a kin' o' a some mean pride 'at wadna be obleeged to yer ain fowk, efter ye hae dune yer best. Cosmo! ilka han'fu' o' meal gi'en i' this or ony hoose by them 'at wadna in like need accep' the same, is an affront frae brither to brither. Them 'at wadna tak, I say, has no richt to gie." "But nobody knew the truth of where their handful of meal was going.
"Stan' still," said Peter, "or I hae a han'fu' o' twine i' my pooch 'at I'll jist cast a k-not aboot yer airms wi' in a jiffey." His lordship stood still, muttering curses. Then Malcolm stepped into the middle of the room, approaching his sister.
The loons had been o' the riggin, and flung a han'fu' o' blastin' powther down ilka smokin' chimley, and syne clappit a divot or a truf upo' the mou' o' 't. Deil ane o' them was in sicht, but I doobt gin ony o' them was far awa'. There was naething for't but get a ladder, and jist gang up an' tak aff the pot-lids. But eh! puir Robert was jist rampin' wi' rage!
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