“Ow, the maister gae me a bit flewet!” answered Malcolm with indifference.
“Where is he?” cried the piper, rising in wrath. “Take her to him, Malcolm. She will stap him. She will pe killing him. She will trife her turk into his wicked pody.”
“Na, na, daddy,” said Malcolm; “we hae hed eneuch o’ durks a’ready!”
“Tat you haf tone it yourself, ten, Malcolm? My prave poy!”
“No, daddy; I took my licks like a man, for I deserved them.”
“Deserfed to pe peaten, Malcolm—to pe peaten like a tog? Ton’t tell her tat! Ton’t preak her heart, my poy.”
“It wasna that muckle, daddy. I only telled him auld Horny was at ’s lug.”
“And she’ll make no toubt it was true,” cried Duncan, emerging sudden from his despondency.
“Ay, sae he was, only I had nae richt to say ’t.”
“Put you striked him pack, Malcolm? Ton’t say you tidn’t gif him pack his plow. Ton’t tell it to her, Malcolm!”