But I maun awa' an' luik efter my
lines, or atween the deil an' the dogfish my lord'll fare ill."
"You haven't told me why you fired the gun," she persisted.
Thus compelled, Malcolm had to explain that the motive lay in his
anxiety lest his grandfather should over exert himself, seeing he
was subject to severe attacks of asthma.
"He could stop when he was tired," she objected.
"Ay, gien his pride wad lat him," answered Malcolm, and turned away
again, eager to draw his line.
"Have you a boat of your own?" asked the lady.
"Ay; yon's her, doon on the shore yonner. Wad ye like a row? She's
fine an' quaiet."
"Who? The boat?"
"The sea, my leddy."
"Is your boat clean?"
"O' a' thing but fish. But na, it's no fit for sic a bonny goon as
that. I winna lat ye gang the day, my leddy; but gien ye like to
be here the morn's mornin', I s' be here at this same hoor, an'
hae my boat as clean's a Sunday sark."
"You think more of my gown than of myself," she returned.
"There's no fear o' yersel', my leddy. Ye're ower weel made to bland
(spoil). But wae's me for the goon or (before) it had been an hoor
i' the boat the day!--no to mention the fish comin' walopin' ower
the gunnel ane efter the ither. But 'deed I maun say good mornin',
mem!"
"By all means. I don't want to keep you a moment from your precious
fish."
Feeling rebuked, without well knowing why, Malcolm accepted the
dismissal, and ran to his boat. By the time he had taken his oars,
the girl had vanished.
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