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The row was a' ower in five meenits, when Mester Blair explen'd things; but if he hadna been wi's, I'm dootin' it wudda been a job. There was ane o' the great muckle dosent nowts o' bobbies cam' an' gowpit in my face, an' says, "D'ye think this ane's a woman?" I fand in ahent's for my umberell; but my chappie gaed his wa's gey quick, or I'd gien him the wecht o't across his nose.
"What is the matter, old fellow? I thought I heard you groan just now." "Yo' mought ha' done, Mester," he answered heavily. "Happen tha did. I dunnot know mysen. Nowts th' matter though, as I knows on, on'y I'm a bit out o' soarts." He turned his head aside slightly and began to pull at the blades of grass on the mound, and all at once I saw that his hand was trembling nervously.
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