“That’s what I hae h’ard said,” answered the laird.
“Weel, sir,” returned Jeames, “gien ye had nae objection, I wad fain mak’ oot what the thing is made o’.”
“It matters little,” said the laird, “seein’ we ken what it’s no made o’; but tak’ yer wull o’ ’t, Jeames.”
“Sit ye doon than, laird, gien ye hae naething mair pressin’, an’ see what I mak’ o’ ’t,” said the watchmaker, setting him a chair.
“Wullin’ly,” replied the laird, “—but I dinna like takin’ up yer time.”
“Ow, my time’s no sae dooms precious! I can aye win throu’ wi’ my work ohn swatten,” said Jeames, with a smile in which mingled a half comical sadness. “An’ it wad set me to waur ’t (puzzle me to spend it ) better to my ain min’ nor servin’ yersel’, i’ the sma’est, sir.”
The laird thanked him, and sat down. Cosmo placed himself on a stool beside him.
“I hae naething upo’ han’ the day,” Jeames Merson went on, “but a watch o’ Jeames Gracie’s, up at the Know—ane o’ yer ain fowk, laird. He tells me it was your gran’father, sir, gied it til his gran’father. It’s a queer auld-fashiont kin’ o’ a thing—some complicat; an’ whiles it’s ’maist ower muckle for me. Ye see auld age is aboot the warst disease horses an’ watches can be ta’en wi’: there’s sae little left to come an’ gang upo’!”
While the homely assayer thus spoke, he was making his preparations.
“What for no men as weel ’s horses an’ watches?” suggested the laird.