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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Weel, that's pleasant and friendly like," said Mr Adair. "But isna your freen himsel lang o' makin his appearance?" "Rather, I confess; but he'll be here shortly, I daresay something of a particular nature detaining him, I have no doubt; but, in the meantime, we'll make ourselves at home. I know it will please him if we do so." And Mr Mowbray proceeded to the bell-pull, and rung it violently.
"The house is very respectable, certainly," said Mr Mowbray; "and, I think, you'll find the inside every way worthy of the out." "I dinna doot it I dinna doot it," replied Mr Adair. "But whar's your freen, himsel?" "Oh! we'll see him presently. In the meantime let us walk in."
"Noo, wad na this be a gran' place to bide at, my lord?" said Malcolm, as they reached the summit the marquis breathless, Florimel fresh as a lark. "Jist see sic an outluik! The verra place for pirates like the auld Danes! Naething cud escape the sicht o' them here. Yon's the hills o' Sutherlan'. Ye see yon ane like a cairn? that's a great freen' to the fisher fowk to tell them whaur they are.
"Ochone!" exclaimed O'Connor, as well as a mouthful of pork and potatoes would allow him; "was it you that groaned like a dyin' pig?" The question was put to Forsyth, who was holding his head between his hands, and swaying his body to and fro in agony. "Hae ye the colic, freen'?" enquired John Watt, in a tone of sympathy. "No-n-o," groaned Forsyth, "it's a a too-tooth!" "Och! is that all?"
An' gien ye dinna chowse to lat on aboot it till an auld freen' cause she's naething but a fisherwife, it's dune ye mair skaith a'ready nor I thocht it wad to the lang last, Ma'colm for it 's yer ain name I s' ca' ye yet, gien ye war ten times a laird! didna I gie ye the breist whan ye cud du naething i' the wardle but sowk? An' weel ye sowkit, puir innocent 'at ye was!"
It's a thing I never was blamed wi' mysel', an' I wadna du't." "That's verra true," said Peter. "The mair weicht's intill't whan I lay 't to the door o' anither," persisted Meg. "Peter, gien ye ha'e onything again' my freen' Ma'colm MacPhail, oot wi' 't like a man, an' no playac' the gunpoother plot ower again. Ill wull's the warst poother ye can lay i' the boddom o' ony man's boat.
"Eh, sir, what for sud ye be in sic a hurry to sleep awa' the bonny daylicht?" remonstrated Grizzie, shot through with sudden fear, nor daring allow to herself she was afraid. "Bide till the yoong laird comes back wi' the news: he winna be lang." "Gien ye haena time, Grizzie, I can manage for mysel'. Gang yer wa's, lass. Ye hae been a richt guid freen' to yer auld mistress!
It was a wipe at my character which I could by nae means submit to. So says I to him, says I "Freen, ye'll observe that I'm no denyin my name I'm only disputin yer richt to demand it. I'm no ashamed o' my name, sir, although it certainly has cost me some trouble in my day. My name, sir, is William Smith sae mak o't what ye like."
"Ye'll tell me whaur ye think he is, Phemy?" "Na, I winna." "What for no?" "Ow, jist for fear ye sud ken." "But I'm a freen' till him." "Ye may think ay, an' the laird may think no." "Does he think you a freen', Phemy?" asked Malcolm, in the hope of coming at something by widening the sweep of the conversation. "Ay, he kens I'm a freen'," she replied. "An' do ye aye ken whaur he is?" "Na, no aye.
Malcolm thought he might take his own time to set the child right, and asked her to go and tell her father that he wanted to see him. In a few minutes Blue Peter appeared, rubbing his eyes one of the dead called too early from the tomb of sleep. "Freen' Peter," said Malcolm, "I'm gaein' to speak oot the day." Peter woke up.
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