''Deed ye're i' the richt, there, Robert. Hae, tak' yer fiddle.'
''Deed no,' returned Robert. 'I maun jist lippen (trust) to ye, Sanders. I canna bide langer the nicht; but maybe ye'll tell me hoo to haud her the neist time 'at I come—will ye?'
'That I wull, Robert, come whan ye like. An' gin ye come o' ane 'at cud play this fiddle as this fiddle deserves to be playt, ye'll do me credit.'
'Ye min' what that sumph Lumley said to me the ither nicht, Sanders, aboot my grandfather?'
'Ay, weel eneuch. A dish o' drucken havers!'
'It was true eneuch aboot my great-grandfather, though.'
'No! Was't railly?'
'Ay. He was the best piper in 's regiment at Culloden. Gin they had a' fouchten as he pipit, there wad hae been anither tale to tell. And he was toon-piper forby, jist like you, Sanders, efter they took frae him a' 'at he had.'
'Na! heard ye ever the like o' that! Weel, wha wad hae thocht it? Faith! we maun hae you fiddle as weel as yer lucky-daiddy pipit.—But here's the King o' Bashan comin' efter his butes, an' them no half dune yet!' exclaimed Dooble Sanny, settling in haste to his awl and his lingel (Fr. ligneul). 'He'll be roarin' mair like a bull o' the country than the king o' 't.'
As Robert departed, Peter Ogg came in, and as he passed the window, he heard the shoemaker averring: