The beggar took it with that silent wag of the back of the head which seems peculiar to the east coast of Scotland, and dropped it into the cart.
Archie handed him a sixpence.
“Ye’ll hae to gie us mair noo!” cried the squinting child, whose eyes had seen straight enough, and who seemed to have a keen sense of values.
“Aye, a sang this time,” added its mother.
“Ye’ll get a pucklie meal an’ a bawbee gin’ ye sing ‘The Tod,’”[*] chimed in an old woman, who had suddenly put her head out of the upper story of the cottage.
The beggar laid down his pipes and spat on earth. Then he opened his mouth and gave forth a voice whose volume, flexibility, and extreme sweetness seemed incredible, considering the being from whom it emanated.
“There’s a tod aye blinkin’ when the nicht comes doon,
Blinkin’ wi’ his lang een, and keekin’ round an’ roun’,
Creepin’ by the farm-yaird when gloamin’ is to fa’,
And syne there’ll be a chicken or a deuk awa’.
Aye, when the guidwife rises there’s a deuk awa’!
“There’s a lass sits greetin’ ben the hoose at hame,
For when the guidwife’s cankered she gie’s her aye the blame,
And sair the lassie’s sabbin’, and fast the tears fa’,
For the guidwife’s tynt a bonnie hen, and it’s awa’.
Aye, she’s no sae easy dealt wi’ when her gear’s awa’!
“There’s a lad aye roamin’ when the day gets late,
A lang-leggit deevil wi’ his hand upon the gate,
And aye the guidwife cries to him to gar the toddie fa’,
For she canna thole to let her chicks an’ deuks awa’.
Aye, the muckle bubbly-jock himsel’ is ca’ed awa’!