The men appeared ready to make a break for liberty, but the bell-mouth of Mons Meg deterred them.
"It's a fine nicht for the time o' year, Davit!" at last said Jamie
Wardhaugh. "An' a nice bit pig. Ye hae muckle credit o't!"
"Ay," said David Armitt, "'deed, an' ye are richt. It's a sonsy bit swine."
"We'll hae to be sayin' guid-nicht, Davit!" at last said Jamie
Wardhaugh, rather limply.
"Na, na, lads. It's but lanesome oot here—an' the morn's election day. We'll e'en see it in thegither. I see that ye hae a swatch o' the guid colour there. That's braw! Noo, there's aneuch o't for us a', Jamie; divide it intil five! Noo, pit ilka yin o' ye a bit in his bonnet!"
One of the others again attempted to run, but he had not got beyond the dyke of the swine-ree when the cold rim of Mons Meg was laid to his ear.
"She's fu' to the muzzle, Wullie," said the Old Tory; "I wadna rin, gin
I war you."
Willie did not run. On the contrary, he stood and shook visibly.
"She wad mak' an awfu' scatterment gin she war to gang aff. Ye had better be oot o' her reach. Ye are braw climbers. I saw ye on my riggin' the nicht already. Climb your ways back up again, and stick every man o' ye a bit o' the bonny yellow in your bonnets."
So the four jesters very reluctantly climbed away up to the rigging of
David Armitt's house under the lowering threat of Mons Meg's iron jaws.