"It's gauin' to the Hoose to my lord's brakfast," he said.
"Hoots! ye'll jist lea' the troot wi' me.--Ye'll be seekin' a
saxpence for 't, I reckon," she persisted, again approaching the
basket.
"I tell ye, Mistress Catanach," said Malcolm, drawing back now
in the fear that if she once had it she would not yield it again,
"it's gauin' up to the Hoose!"
"Hoots! there's naebody there seen 't yet. It's new oot o' the
watter."
"But Mistress Courthope was doon last nicht, an' wantit the best
I cud heuk."
"Mistress Courthope! Wha cares for her? A mim, cantin' auld body!
Gie me the trootie, Ma'colm. Ye're a bonny laad, an 'it s' be the
better for ye."
"Deed I cudna du 't, Mistress Catanach--though I'm sorry to
disobleege ye. It's bespoken, ye see. But there's a fine haddie,
an' a bonny sma' coddie, an' a goukmey (gray gurnard)."
"Gae 'wa' wi' yer haddies, an' yer goukmeys! Ye sanna gowk me wi'
them."
"Weel, I wadna wonner," said Malcolm, "gien Mrs Courthope wad like
the haddie tu, an' maybe the lave o' them as weel. Hers is a muckle
faimily to haud eatin.' I'll jist gang to the Hoose first afore I
mak ony mair offers frae my creel."
"Ye'll lea' the troot wi' me," said Mrs Catanach imperiously.
"Na; I canna du that. Ye maun see yersel' 'at I canna."
The woman's face grew dark with anger. "It s' be the waur for ye,"
she cried.
"I'm no gauin' to be fleyt (frightened) at ye. Ye're no sic a witch
as that comes till, though ye div ken a body's fit upo' the flags!
My blin' luckie deddy can du mair nor that!" said Malcolm, irritated
by her persistency, threats and evil looks.
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