I was at ane last nicht."
"And did you dance?"
"'Deed did I, my leddy. I danced the maist o' the lasses clean aff
o' their legs."
"What made you so cruel?"
"Weel, ye see, mem,--I mean my leddy,--fowk said I was ill
aboot the bride; an' sae I bude to dance 't oot o' their heids."
"And how much truth was there in what they said?" she asked, with
a sly glance up in the handsome, now glowing face.
"Gien there was ony, there was unco little," he replied. "The
chield's walcome till her for me. But she was the bonniest lassie
we had.--It was what we ca' a penny weddin'," he went on, as if
willing to change the side of the subject.
"And what's a penny wedding?"
"It's a' kin' o' a custom amo' the fishers. There's some gey puir
fowk amon' 's, ye see, an' when a twa o' them merries, the lave o'
's wants to gie them a bit o' a start like. Sae we a' gang to the
weddin' an' eats an' drinks plenty, an' pays for a' 'at we hae;
and they mak' a guid profit out o' 't, for the things doesna cost
them nearhan' sae muckle as we pay. So they hae a guid han'fu' ower
for the plenishin'."
"And what do they give you to eat and drink?" asked the girl, making
talk.
"Ow, skate an' mustard to eat, an' whusky to drink," answered the
lad, laughing. "But it's mair for the fun. I dinna care muckle
about whusky an' that kin' o' thing mysel'. It's the fiddles an
the dancin' 'at I like."
"You have music, then?"
"Ay; jist the fiddles an' the pipes.
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