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 wratch 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."
"Daur ye tell me," cried Bykes, recovering himself, "'at I didna
see ye wi' my twa een, loup the dyke aneth the temple--ay, an
something flutterin' unco like bird wings i' yer han'?"
"Oot or in, Johnny Bykes?"
"Ow! oot."
"I did loup the dyke my lord; but it was oot, no in.
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