“Ye ken the story o’ the guid Samaritan, my lord?” said Aggie.
“I read my Bible, I hope.”
“Weel, I’ll tell ye a bit mair o’ ’t nor ye’ll get there. The Levite an’ the Pharisee—naebody ever said yer lordship was like aither o’ them—”
“No, thank God! nobody could.”
“—they gaed by o’ the ither side, an’ loot him lie. But there was ane cam up, an’ tuik ’im by the legs, ’cause he lay upo’ his lan’, an’ wad hae pu’d him aff. But jist i’ the nick o’ time by cam the guid Samaritan, an’ set him rinnin’. Sae it was sune a sma’ maitter to onybody but the ill neebour, wha couldna weel gang straucht to Paradise. Abraham wad hae a fine time o’ ’t wi’ sic a bairn in ’s bosom!”
“Damn the women! Young and old they’re too many for me!” said his lordship to himself,—and just then Grizzie returning invited him to walk up to the laird’s room, where he made haste to set forth the object of his visit.
“I said to your son, Glenwarlock, when he came to me the other morning, that I would not buy.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I have however, lawyer though I be, changed my mind, and am come to renew my offer.”
“In the meantime, however, we have changed our minds, my lord, and will not sell.”