"Hoot, hoot, Thamas, man! Isna that bein' richteous overmuch, as oor minister wad say?"
The question came in the husky voice of Peter Whaup, the blacksmith, who was now discovered leaning in over the half-door of the shop.
"And wha's your minister, Peter, my man?" retorted Thomas, with some acrimony.
"Mr Cooie, as ye weel ken, Thamas."
"I thoucht as muckle. The doctrine savours o' the man, Peter. There's no fear o' him or ony o' his followers bein' richteous over-much."
"Weel, ye ken, that's naething but a rabbit i' yer han'. It wad hae been worried some day. Hoo cam' 't by 'ts deith?"
"I didna mean to kill't. 'Twas a' for fun, ye ken," said Alec, addressing Thomas.
"There's a heap o' fun," answered Thomas with solemnity, "that carries deith i' the tail o' 't. Here's the puir cripple laddie's rabbit as deid's a herrin', and him at hame greetin' his een oot, I daursay."
Alec caught up his cap and made for the door.
"I'll gang and see him. Curly, wha has ony rabbits to sell?"