Well you can plaze yourself. I suppose you could make as much by fiddlin' as if you stayed on here and waited till we had the place divid among the three of us.
Ellen.
Why I heard from Mr. Taylor that father was worth four or five hundred pounds and then the two farms.
Grandfather.
Aye. You'd be a long time Robbie John earnin' that wi' your fiddle. Don't heed his fool talk son. Stay at home and nivir mind the musicians.
Ellen.
Robbie dear, and I'm sure Mr. Graeme would never let his daughter marry a penniless fiddler—even if she would herself. I don't know. She might and she—mightn't.
Samuel James.
Rising from table and stretching himself.