Driver (more confidently). Ou aye, they'll be begger than goldfesh.
Chatty P. (persistently). You've seen goldfish—know what they're like, eh?
Driver (placidly). I canna say I do.
[They pass a shooting party with beaters.
Chatty P. (as before). What are they going to shoot?
Driver. They'll jist be going up to the hells for a bet grouse drivin'.
A Lady P. I wonder why they carry those poles with the red and yellow flags. I suppose they're to warn tourists to keep out of range when they begin firing at the butts. I know they have butts up on the moor, because I've seen them. Just look at those birds running after that man throwing grain for them. Would those be grouse?
Driver. Ye'll no find grouse so tame as that, mem; they'll jist be phaysants.
The Lady P. Poor dear things! why, they're as tame as chickens. It does seem so cruel to kill them!