“Ha-Ha! Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
A regular rollicking burst of good, sound, old-fashioned, honest, English laughter, which rang out clear, bright, and cheery in the frosty air.
“She’ll pe laughin’ at me, Meester Stevey?”
“Yes!” cried the lad, bursting out into another peal, in which Skene joined with a good, sound, rattling bark. “Why, even the dog can’t help it. Look at him!”
“She’ll pe only barkin’ and not laughin’. Togs canna laugh.”
“Well, they can show their teeth!” cried Steve. “Oh, I say, Watty, you do look a guy! Your mother wouldn’t know you.”
“Her ain mither wad ken her anywhere,” said Watty proudly.
“Not like this. Why, you look like an old bear with a sheep-skin on. Why, that coat’s too big for you. What have you got underneath?”
“She isna a pit too pig. She wants a muckle great-coat to keep oot the caud.”
“Why, you’ve got a blanket on under it!”