“God be praised that I am safe, then!” cried the lady, immeasurably relieved. “But what is the meaning of all this violence, John? Are you mad?”
“Na,” cried John, starting from the melting fit into which he had been thrown. “She no mad a bit. But ta Hillantmens comin’!—Swarrants ta Hillantmens no liket ta bonfires!”
“The Highlanders!” cried the Pensassenach. “Heaven defend me, what shall I do without the protection of my husband? What!—what shall I do?” and she burst into a flood of tears, from the nervous excitement to which she had been subjected.
“Troth, she be sinkin’ tat its as weel tat ta master’s no at hame,” said he. “But fat need she fear as lang as Shon Smiss be here?”
“Will you protect me?” cried the Pensassenach, eagerly. “Will you really be true to me?”
“Fat has Shon Smiss toon to mak ta Pensassenach sink tat she’ll no be true till her ain mistress?” cried Smith, in a whimpering tone, betokening vexation, so sincere, as, in a great measure, to restore the lady’s confidence in him.
“Why did you drive away the cattle this morning, and what have you done with them?” demanded she.
“Trots she was dootin’, a’ nicht, tat ta Hillantmen wad come after a’ yon mockel fires,” replied John, “an’ sae she just trave tem, coos, cattal, sheeps, an’ staigs, an’ awtegitter, a’ awa’ ower to ta glen, whaur she’s sinking tat tey’ll no be gettin’ tem at ’tis turn.”
“Faithful creature, after all, then!” cried the Pensassenach. “How can I sufficiently thank you?”
“Did she no tell her tat Shon Smiss was nae feefs nor rubbers neither,” said Morag, entering triumphantly at that moment. “Is she no a prave ponny man? But uve, uve, memm, fat way is tat to be stannin’? Fye, Shon Smiss! hoo could ye stand glowerin’ tere?—get oot, man, till she gets ta leddy dressed.”