“Lay doon that spaud,” cried its owner, and would have taken it from him, but Cosmo delayed rendition.
“Hoot, man!” he said, “I wad but lat ye see I’m nae lan’louper, an’ can weel han’le a spaud. Stan’ ye by a bit, an’ rist yer banes, till I caw throu’ a trifle o’ yer wark.”
“An’ what du ye expec’ to come o’ that? Ye’re efter something, as sure ’s the deevil at the back yett, though ye’re nae freely sae sure to win at it.”
“What I expec’, it wad be ill to say; but what I dinna expec’ is to be traitit like a vaggabon. Come, I’ll gie ye a guid hoor’s wark for a place to wash mysel’, an’ put on a clean sark.”
“Hae ye the sark?”
“I hae ’t here i’ my bag.”
“An’ what du ye want to put on a clean sark for? What’ll ye du whan ye hae ’t on?”
“Gie ye anither hoor’s wark for the heel o’ a loaf an’ a drink o’ watter.”
“Ye’ll be wantin’ to be taen on, I s’ wad (wager ) ye a worm!”
“Gien ye cud gie me a day’s wark, or maybe twa,—” began Cosmo, thinking how much rather he would fall in with Lady Joan about the garden than go up to the house.