Gang hame, gang hame—I can nae mair—
Ye'll break my heart among ye!
Yellow hair? The allusion was so obvious that the pretty Nelly blushed scarlet—all the more visibly because of her fair complexion; and when the thunder of the thrice-repeated refrain had ceased, she leant forward and said to him in a low voice, but with much terrible meaning—
'My lad, when I get you by yourself, I'll give it to you!'
They had nearly finished supper by this time; but ere they had the decks cleared for action, there was a formal ceremony to be gone through. The host produced his quaich—a small cup of horn, with a handle on each side; and likewise a bottle of whisky; and as one guest after another took hold of the quaich with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, the innkeeper filled the small cup with whisky, which had then to be drank to some more or less appropriate toast. These were in Gaelic for the most part—'To the goodman of the inn'; 'To the young girls that are kind, and old wives that keep a clean house'; 'Good health; and good luck in finding things washed ashore,' and so forth—and when it came to Mr. Hodson's turn, he would have a try at the Gaelic too.
'I think I can wrestle with it, if you give me an easy one,' he remarked, as he took the quaich between his fingers and held it till it was filled.
'Oh no, sir, do not trouble about the Gaelic,' said his pretty neighbour Jeannie—blushing very much, for there was comparative silence at the time.
'But I want to have my turn. If it's anything a white man can do, I can do it.'
'Say air do shlàinte—that is, your good health,' said Jeannie, blushing more furiously than ever.
He carefully balanced the cup in his hands, gravely turned towards his hostess, bowed to her, repeated the magic words with a very fair accent indeed, and drained off the whisky—amid the general applause; though none of them suspected that the swallowing of the whisky was to him a much more severe task than the pronunciation of the Gaelic. And then it came to Ronald's turn.