Amidst a burst of malign laughter she slammed her door, and from a window sideways watched the young fisherman.
As he stood looking after the dog in wrath and bewilderment, the factor, having recovered from the fit of merriment into which the sudden explosion of events had cast him, and succeeded in quieting his scared horse, said, slackening his reins to move on,
“You sell your fish too cheap, Malcolm.”
“The deil’s i’ the tyke,” rejoined Malcolm, and, seized at last by a sense of the ludicrousness of the whole affair, burst out laughing, and turned for the High Street.
“Na, na, laddie; the deil’s no awa’ in sic a hurry: he bed (remained),” said a voice behind him.
Malcolm turned again and lifted his bonnet. It was Miss Horn, who had come up from the Seaton.
“Did ye see yon, mem?” he asked.
“Ay, weel that, as I cam up the brae. Dinna stan’ there, laddie. The jaud’ll be watchin’ ye like a cat watchin’ a mouse. I ken her! She’s a cat-wuman, an’ I canna bide her. She’s no mowse (safe to touch). She’s in secrets mair nor guid, I s’ wad (wager). Come awa’ wi’ me; I want a bit fish. I can ill eat an’ her lyin’ deid I’ the hoose—it winna gang ower; but I maun get some strength pitten intill me afore the berial. It’s a God’s-mercy I wasna made wi’ feelin’s, or what wad hae come o’ me! Whaur’s the gude o’ greetin? It’s no worth the saut i’ the watter o’ ’t, Ma’colm. It’s an ill wardle, an micht be a bonny ane—gien ’t warna for ill men.”
“’Deed, mem! I’m thinkin’ mair aboot ill women, at this prasent,” said Malcolm. “Maybe there’s no sic a thing, but yon’s unco like ane. As bonny a sawmon-troot ’s ever ye saw, mem! It’s a’ I’m cawpable o’ to haud ohn cursed that foul tyke o’ hers.”
“Hoot, laddie! haud yer tongue.”