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"Na, na, your honor; a shilling's no for a man that understands the sceence o' buttany: a shilling's for a flunky in livery; but as for me, I couldna conscientiously condescend upon less than ten o' them, or may be a pund British, but I'm feart that's contrair to your honor's habits."
I would get him a suit of clothes, and he would not take either; but talked about some silly penance he was undergoing." "Saul, then, your honor, he may be a fule in ither things, but de'il a ane of him's a fule in the sceence o' buttany.
"It's vera true doctrine, sir. You have large and spacious green-hooses, and I wad want some one to assist me wha understands buttany." "Buttony Buttony why, confound you, sirra, send for a tailor, then, for he understands buttony." "I see your honor is detarmined to indulge in a jocular spirit the day.
"Why, confound it, Malcomson, that fellow's more like a beggarman than a gardener." "Saul, but he's a capital hand for a' that. Your honor's no' to tak the beuk by the cover. To be sure he's awfully vulgar, but, ma faith, he has a richt gude knowledgeable apprehension o' buttany and gerdening in generhal." The squire then approached our under-gardener, and accosted him,
"Well, Malcomson," said he, "how do you like the bearded fellow in the garden?" "Ou, yer honor, weel eneugh; he does ken something o' the sceence o' buttany, an' 'am thinkin' he must hae been a gude spell in Scotland, for I canna guess whare else he could hae become acquent wi' it." "I see Malcomson, you'll still persist in your confounded pedantry about your science.
"It be too late now; let 'em take me to prison, let 'em send me 'cross the sea to Buttany, let 'em hang me, if they please. I be 's good for nothin' now, nothin'!" Altered as the voice was, it struck Percival as familiar. He looked down and caught a view of the drooping face. "Up, man, up!" he said cheerily. "See, Providence sends you an old friend in need, to teach you never to despair again."
He cam' here as a gaberlunzie, and on stating that he was indoctrinated in the sceence o' buttany, his honor garred me employ him. De'il hae't but the truth I'll tell he's a clever buttanist, and knows a' the sceentific names aff hand." "So that's all you know about him?" said Sir Robert. "He has a devil of a beard, and is shockingly dressed. Why doesn't he shave?"
"It be too late now; let 'em take me to prison, let 'em send me 'cross the sea to Buttany, let 'em hang me, if they please. I be 's good for nothin' now, nothin'!" Altered as the voice was, it struck Percival as familiar. He looked down and caught a view of the drooping face. "Up, man, up!" he said cheerily. "See, Providence sends you an old friend in need, to teach you never to despair again."
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