As he came nearer, Cosmo read peevishness and
ill-temper in every line of his countryman's countenance, yet he
approached him with confidence, for Scotchmen out of their own
country are of good report for hospitality to each other.
"Hoo's a' wi' ye?" he cried, sending his mother-tongue as a
pursuivant in advance.
"Wha's speirin? an' what richt hae ye to speir?" returned the old
man in an angry voice, and lifting himself quickly, though with an
aching sigh, looked at him with hard blue eyes.
"A countryman o' yer ain," answered Cosmo.
"Mony ane's that 'at's naething the better nor the walcomer. Gie an
accoont o' yersel', or the doags'll be lowsed upo' ye here in a
jiffey. Haith, this is no the place for lan'loupers!"
"Hae ye been lang aboot the place?" asked Cosmo.
"Langer nor ye're like to be, I'm thinkin', gien ye keep na the
ceeviler tongue i' yer heid, my man--Whaur come ye frae?"
The old man had dropt his spade; Cosmo took it up, and began to
dig.
"Lay doon that spaud," cried its owner, and would have taken it
from him, but Cosmo delayed rendition.
"Hoot, man!" he said, "I wad but lat ye see I'm nae lan'louper, an'
can weel han'le a spaud. Stan' ye by a bit, an' rist yer banes,
till I caw throuw a trifle o' yer wark."
"An' what du ye expec' to come o' that? Ye're efter something, as
sure's the deevil at the back yelt, though ye're nae freely sae
sure to win at it."
"What I expec,' it wad be ill to say; but what I dinna expec' is to
be traitit like a vaggabon.
Pages:
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325