“I think, Jinnet,” said he, “ye wad hae been nane the waur o’ a pun’ or twa o’ conversation-losengers.”
They ate oranges after tea, but still a depression hung upon the company like a cloud, till Erchie asked Macrae if he would sing.
“Onything ye like,” said he, “as lang’s it’s no’ yin o’ yer tartan chats that has a hunder verses, and that needs ye to tramp time wi’ yer feet till’t. I’ve a flet fit mysel’, though my hert’s warm, and I’m nae use at batin’ time.”
Macrae looked at Leezie, who had all night studiously evaded his eye, cleared his throat, and started to sing a song with the chorus—
“Fause Maggie Jurdan,
She"made my life a burden;
I don’t want to live,
And I’m gey sweart to dee.
She’s left me a’ forlorn,
And I wish I’d ne’er been born,