“Isn’t it splendid?” she cried.
“It blaws weel—verra near as weel ’s my daddy,” said Malcolm, enjoying it quite as much as the girl.
“How dare you make game of such a grand uproar?” said Florimel with superiority.
“Mak ghem o’ a blast o’ win’ by comparin’ ’t to my gran’father!” exclaimed Malcolm. “Hoot, my leddy! it’s a coamplement to the biggest blast ’at ever blew to be compairt till an auld man like him. I’m ower used to them to min’ them muckle mysel’, ’cep’ to fecht wi’ them. But whan I watch the sea-goos dartin’ like arrow-heids throu’ the win’, I sometimes think it maun be gran’ for the angels to caw aboot great flags o’ wings in a mortal warstle wi’ sic a hurricane as this.”
“I don’t understand you one bit,” said Lady Florimel petulantly.
As she spoke, she went on, but, the blast having abated, Malcolm lingered, to place a proper distance between them.
“You needn’t keep so far behind,” said Florimel, looking back.
“As yer leddyship pleases,” answered Malcolm, and was at once by her side. “I’ll gang till ye tell me to stan’.—Eh, sae different ’s ye look frae the ither mornin’!”
“What morning?”
“Whan ye was sittin’ at the fut o’ the bored craig.”