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I'm nane the less obleeged to ye, Jeames," he added as he rose, "though I cud weel wuss yer opingon had been sic as wad hae pitten't 'i my pooer to offer ye a fee for't." "The less said aboot that the better, laird." replied Jeames with imperturbability, and his large, silent smile; "the trowth's the trowth, whether it's paid for or no.
'I wadna be girdin at ye, Francie, but that I care ower muckle aboot ye to lat ye think I haud the same opingon o' ye 'at ye hae o' yersel, answered the girl, who went on with her knitting as she spoke. 'Ye'll never believe a body! he rejoined, and turned half away. 'I canna think what gars me keep comin to see ye! Ye haena a guid word to gie a body!
'Ye haena telt 's yet, Cocker, he said, 'what that maister o' yours is duin' here at this time o' the year. I wad ken that, gin ye please. 'How should I know, Mr. MacGregor? returned the factor, taking no notice of the offensive manner in which the question was put. 'He's no a hair better nor ane o' thae Algerine pirates 'at Lord Exmooth's het the hips o' and that's my opingon.
I'm nae a'thegither sorry to see ye." "Have you been to the country, Mr Cupples?" asked Alec, as he took a chair. "The country! Na, I haena been i' the country. I'm a toon-snail. The country's for calves and geese. It's ower green for me. I like the gray stanes weel biggit, to haud oot the cauld. I jist reverse the opingon o' the auld duke in Mr Shackspere; for this my life
"Wi' a' my hert," answered Cupples. And here their ways diverged. When he reached home, he asked Annie about Thomas. Annie spoke of him in the highest terms, adding, "I'm glaid ye like him, Mr Cupples." "I dinna think, wi' sic an opingon o' 'm, it can maitter muckle to you whether I like him or no," returned Mr Cupples, looking at her quizzically. "Na, nae muckle as regairds him.
It's unco ready to that o' 'ts ain sel'; an' it's my opingon that there's no anither instrument but the fiddle fit to play the Flooers o' the Forest upo', for that very rizzon, in a' his Maijesty's dominions. My father playt the fiddle, but no like your gran'father. Robert was silent.
For mysel' I dinna preten' to ony opingon; but sae lang as the needcessity was the same, I wad be laith to think Providence wadna be consistent wi' itsel'. Ye maun min' the tale, better nor I can tell't ye, concernin' yon meal-girnel muckle sic like, I daursay, as oor ain, though it be ca'd a barrel i' the Buik hit 'at never wastit, ye ken, an'the uily-pig an' a' ye'll min' weel though what ony wuman in her senses cud want wi' sic a sicht o' ile's mair nor I ever cud faddom!
My Maister's no o' ae min' wi' you, mem, aboot sic affairs and sae I maun gang, and lea' ye to yer ain opingon! But I would jist remin' ye, mem, that she's at this present i' my hoose, wi my wife; and my wee bit lassie hings aboot her as gien she was an angel come doon to see the bonny place this warl luks frae up there. Eh, puir lammie, the stanes oucht to be feower upo thae hill-sides!"
But afore ye gang it's but fair to tell ye only I wadna like to be hauden ower strickly accoontable for the opingon, seein' its no my profession, as they ca' 't, but I hae dune my best, an gien I be i' the wrang, I naither hae nor had ony ill design intil' 't. "Bless my soul!" cried the laird, with more impatience than Cosmo had ever seen him show, "is the man mad, or does he take me for a fool?"
"Weel, what I wad beg o' ye is, that ye tak no further step o' ony consequence, afore ye see Maister Robertson, and mak him acquant wi the haill affair." "I'm vera willin," answered James; "and I doobtna Isy 'ill be content." "Ye may be vera certain, sir, that she'll be naething but pleased: she has a gran' opingon, and weel she may, o' Maister Robertson.
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