The story had warmed our marble acquaintance. Saunders opened his eyes, and thought, “We shall wake up the House of Lords some evening—we shall.”
His lordship then added, less warmly, looking at the girls:
“I think I should like to be a fisherman.”
So saying, my lord yawned slightly.
To this aspiration the young fishwives deigned no attention, doubting, perhaps, its sincerity; and Christie, with a shade of severity, inquired of him how he came to be a vile count.
“A baron's no' a vile count, I'm sure,” said she; “sae tell me how ye came to be a vile count.”
“Ah!” said he, “that is by no means a pretty story like the other; you will not like it, I am sure.
“Ay, will I—ay, will I; I'm aye seeking knoewledge.”
“Well, it is soon told. One of us sat twenty years on one seat, in the same house, so one day he got up a—viscount.”
“Ower muckle pay for ower little wark.”