“But Mistress Courthope was doon last nicht, an’ wantit the best I cud heuk.”
“Mistress Courthope! Wha cares for her? A mim, cantin’ auld body! Gie me the trootie, Ma’colm. Ye’re a bonny laad, an it s’ be the better for ye.”
“Deed I cudna du ’t, Mistress Catanach—though I’m sorry to disobleege ye. It’s bespoken, ye see. But there’s a fine haddie, an’ a bonny sma’ coddie, an’ a goukmey (gray gurnard).”
“Gae ’wa’ wi’ yer haddies, an’ yer goukmeys! Ye sanna gowk me wi’ them.”
“Weel, I wadna wonner,” said Malcolm, “gien Mrs Courthope wad like the haddie tu, an’ maybe the lave o’ them as weel. Hers is a muckle faimily to haud eatin’. I’ll jist gang to the Hoose first afore I mak ony mair offers frae my creel.”
“Ye’ll lea’ the troot wi’ me,” said Mrs Catanach imperiously.
“Na; I canna du that. Ye maun see yersel’ ’at I canna.”
The woman’s face grew dark with anger.
“It s’ be the waur for ye,” she cried.
“I’m no gauin’ to be fleyt (frightened) at ye. Ye’re no sic a witch as that comes till, though ye div ken a body’s fit upo’ the flags! My blin’ luckie-deddy can du mair nor that!” said Malcolm, irritated by her persistency, threats and evil looks.