"Thank ye, my bonny lassie—thank ye," replied the disguised baronet, expressing himself in character, and speaking the language of his assumed station. "Are ye ready for anither dance?"
"Oh, a score o' them—a thousand o' them," said the lively girl.
"But will your faither, think ye, hae nae objections to my comin?" inquired the fiddler.
"Nane in the warld. My faither is nane o' your sour carles that wad deny ither folk the pleasures they canna enjoy themsels. He likes to see a'body happy around him—every ane his ain way."
"An' your mother?"
"Jist the same. Ye'll find her waur to fiddle doun than ony o' us. She'll dance as lang's a string hauds o't."
"Then, I may be quite at my ease," rejoined Sir John.
"Quite so," replied Jeanie—and she slipped half-a-crown into his hand—"and there's your arles; but ye'll be minded better ere ye leave us."
"My word, no an ill beginnin," quoth the musician, looking with well-affected delight at the coin, and afterwards putting it carefully into his pocket. "But ye could hae gien me a far mair acceptable arles than half-a-crown," he added, "and no been a penny the poorer either."
"What's that?" said Jeanie, laughing and blushing at the same time, and more than half guessing, from the looks of the pawky fiddler, what was meant.