“You’re a rare one!” said the marquis.
Malcolm thought he was making game of him as heretofore, and held his peace.
“You can go home now,” said his lordship. “I will see to this affair.”
“But jist be canny middlin’ wi’ Mistress Catanach, my lord: she’s no mowse.”
“What! you’re not afraid of an old woman?”
“Deil a bit, my lord!—that is, I’m no feart at a dogfish or a rottan, but I wud tak tent an’ grip them the richt gait, for they hae teeth. Some fowk think Mistress Catanach has mair teeth nor she shaws.”
“Well, if she’s too much for me, I’ll send for you,” said the marquis good-humouredly.
“Ye canna get me sae easy, my lord: we’re efter the herrin’ noo.”
“Well, well, we’ll see.”
“But I wantit to tell ye anither thing my lord,” said Malcolm, as he followed the marquis down the stairs.