'Oh no, Mr. Murray,' said the slim-waisted Nelly, who had recovered from her confusion, and whose eyes were now as full of mischief as ever, 'do not ask Ronald to say anything in the Gaelic; he is ashamed to hear himself speak. It is six years and more he has been trying to say "a young calf," and he cannot do it yet.'
'And besides, he's thinking of the lass he left behind in the Lothians,' said her neighbour.
'And they're all black-haired girls there,' continued the fair-haired Nelly. 'Ronald, drink "mo nighean dubh."'
He fixed his eyes on her steadily, and said: 'Tir nam beann, nan gleann, s'nan gaisgeach;[#] and may all the saucy jades in Sutherland find a husband to keep them in order ere the year be out.'
[#] The land of hills and glens and heroes.
And now two or three of the lasses rose to clear the table; for the red-bearded drover and his brigade had not the skill to do that; and the men lit their pipes; and there was a good deal of joyous schwärmerei. In the midst of it all there was a rapping of spoons and knuckles at the upper end of the table; and it was clear, from the importance of his look, that Mr. Murray himself was about to favour the company—so that a general silence ensued. And very well indeed did the host of the evening sing—in a shrill, high-pitched voice, it is true, but still with such a multitude of small flourishes and quavers and grace notes as showed he had once been proud enough of his voice in the days gone by. 'Scotland yet' he sang; and there was a universal rush at the chorus—
'And trow ye as I sing, my lads,
The burden o't shall be,
Auld Scotland's howes, and Scotland's knowes,
And Scotland's hills for me,