“Yer lordship wad never hae had me come at sic a summons as that cankert ted (toad) Johnny Bykes broucht me. Gien ye had but hard him! He spak as gien he had been sent to fess me to yer lordship by the scruff o’ the neck, an’ I didna believe yer lordship wad do sic a thing. Ony gait, I wasna gauin’ to stan’ that. Ye wad hae thocht him a cornel at the sma’est, an’ me a wheen heerin’-guts. But it wad hae garred ye lauch, my lord, to see hoo the body ran whan my blin’ gran’father—he canna bide onybody interferin’ wi’ me—made at him wi’ his braid-swoord!”
“Ye leein’ rascal!” cried Bykes; “—me feared at an auld spidder, ’at hasna breath eneuch to fill the bag o’ ’s pipes!”
“Caw canny, Johnny Bykes. Gien ye say an ill word o’ my gran’father, I s’ gie your neck a thraw—an’ that the meenute we’re oot o’ ’s lordship’s presence.”
“Threits! my lord,” said the gatekeeper, appealing.
“And well merited,” returned his lordship. “—Well, then,” he went on, again addressing Malcolm, “What have you to say for yourself in regard of stealing my brood pheasants?”
“Maister MacPherson,” said Malcolm, with an inclination of his head towards the gamekeeper, “micht ha’ fun’ a fitter neuk to fling that dirt intill. ’Deed, my lord, it’s sae ridic’lous, it hardly angers me. A man ’at can hae a’ the fish i’ the haill ocean for the takin’ o’ them, to be sic a sneck-drawin’ contemptible vratch as tak yer lordship’s bonny hen-craturs frae their chuckies—no to mention the sin o ’t!—it’s past an honest man’s denyin’, my lord. An’ Maister MacPherson kens better, for luik at him lauchin’ in ’s ain sleeve.”
“Well, we’ve no proof of it,” said the marquis; “but what do you say to the charge of trespass?”
“The policies hae aye been open to honest fowk, my lord.”
“Then where was the necessity for getting in over the wall!”
“I beg yer pardon, my lord: ye hae nae proof agen me o’ that aither.”