“Canny, man, canny!” said the little servitor, releasing himself with difficulty from the grasp of this impetuous lover. “Faith! it's anither warnin' this no' to parley at nicht wi' onything less than twa or three inch o' oak dale atween ye and herm.”
“Cut clavers and tell me what ails your mistress!”
“Oh, weel; she hisna come oot the nicht,” said Mungo, waving his arms to bring the whole neighbourhood as witness of the obvious fact.
The Chamberlain thrust at his chest and nearly threw him over.
“Ye dull-witted Lowland brock!” said he; “have I no' the use of my own eyes? Give me another word but what I want and I'll slash ye smaller than ye are already with my Ferrara.”
“Oh, I'm no' that wee!” said Mungo. “If ye wad jist bide cool—”
“'Cool' quo' he! Man! I'm up to the neck in fire. Where is she?”
“Whaur ony decent lass should be at this 'oor o' the nicht—in her naked bed.”
“Say that again, you foul-mouthed dog o' Fife, and I'll gralloch you like a deer!” cried the Chamberlain, his face tingling.
“Losh! the body's cracked,” said Mungo Boyd, astounded at this nicety.