“Tere’s a laud oot in the byre,” replied Angus; “but he’s four score year auld, an’ has been teaf and blind since they took him to Inferness jail for dirking the packman—teil tak their sowls for pittin an honest man in ony such places—ye can pid him gang, if ye like.”
“Why, if he’s deaf and blind, Angus, he will be no great help.”
“Ten gang yersell; petter that than sitting filling yer pig wame wi’ whisky.”
“You shall have a glass, Angus, when I have tea brought in.”
“An’ little thanks for it too. It’s a small reward for comin’ a’ this way through the cauld.”
“You may go now,” said our fat friend, who was now more anxious to get quit of his visitor than he had been for his appearance.
“Teil a pit, teil a pit; no without the glass ye promised.”
“Be off, sir—be more respectful to your superiors. I am chief of this clan.”
“He’s ta chief!” cried old Angus, with a laugh that shot a chill into the gallant chieftain’s heart—“he’s ta chief, is he? Hu! hu! hu!”
“For goodness’ sake, old man, go back to your own room. You shall have a whole bottle; I’ll send it to you directly.”