'De'il but I will sweir, mem; an' gin ye anger me, I'll jist sweir awfu'.'
'I'm sure I hae nae wuss to anger ye, man! Canna ye help a body to win at the boddom o' a thing ohn angert an' sworn?'
'Weel, I kenna wha brocht the shune, as I tellt ye a'ready.'
'But they wantit nae men'in'.'
'I micht hae men't them an' forgotten 't, mem.'
'Noo ye're leein'.'
'Gin ye gang on that gait, mem, I winna speyk a word o' trowth frae this moment foret.'
'Jist tell me what ye ken aboot thae shune, an' I'll no say anither word.'
'Weel, mem, I'll tell ye the trowth. The de'il brocht them in ae day in a lang taings; and says he, “Elshender, men' thae shune for puir Robby Faukner; an' dooble-sole them for the life o' ye; for that auld luckie-minnie o' his 'ill sune hae him doon oor gait, and the grun' 's het i' the noo; an' I dinna want to be ower sair upon him, for he's a fine chield, an' 'll mak a fine fiddler gin he live lang eneuch.”'
Mrs. Falconer left the shop without another word, but with an awful suspicion which the last heedless words of the shoemaker had aroused in her bosom. She left him bursting with laughter over his lapstone. He caught up his fiddle and played The De'il's i' the Women lustily and with expression. But he little thought what he had done.