“Daur ye tell me,” cried Bykes, recovering himself, “’at I didna see ye wi’ my twa een, loup the dyke aneth the temple—ay, an something flutterin’ unco like bird-wings i’ yer han’?”
“Oot or in, Johnny Bykes?”
“Ow! oot.”
“I did loup the dyke my lord; but it was oot, no in.”
“How did you get in then?” asked the marquis.
“I gat in, my lord,” began Malcolm, and ceased.
“How did you get in?” repeated the marquis.
“Ow! there’s mony w’ys o’ winnin’ in, my lord. The last time I cam in but ane, it was ’maist ower the carcass o’ Johnny there, wha wad fain hae hauden me oot, only he hadna my blin’ daddy ahint him to ile ’s jints.”
“An’ dinna ye ca’ that brakin’ in?” said Bykes.
“Na; there was naething to brak, ’cep it had been your banes, Johnny; an’ that wad hae been a peety—they’re sae guid for rinnin wi’.”