“Go and teach your grandmother how to suck eggs,” roared Kenneth in the same way; but Shon shook his head, for he could not hear the words; and Kenneth sank down in the boat, and pressed the tiller a little to port, so as to alter the boat’s course slightly. “Scood,” he cried pettishly, “your father’s a jolly old woman.”
Scood, who was half leaning back, enjoying the fun of hearing his father bantered, suddenly started up in a stiff sitting position, and tore off his Tam o’ Shanter, to throw it angrily in the bottom of the boat, as his yellow face grew redder, and he cried fiercely,—
“No, she isna an auld woman. My father’s a ferry coot man.”
“No, he isn’t; he’s a regular silly old cow.”
“My father’s a man, and a coot man, and a coot prave man, and never wass an auld woman.”
“Get out, you old thick-head!” cried Kenneth.
“I ton’t say my het isna a coot thick het, Maister Ken; but my father is as coot a man as The Mackhai hersel’.”
“Oh, all right, then; Long Shon is a coot prave man, but his legs are too short.”
“She canna help her legs peing short,” said Scood, who was still ruffled; “put they’re ferry coot legs—peautiful legs.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Kenneth.