'Put what troubles
me,' says he, 'it 'll not pe apout myself at aall.'--'Tat 'll
pe a wonter,' says her nain sel': 'and what may it pe apout, you
cuttroat?'--'It 'll pe apout yourself,' says he. 'Apout herself?'
--'Yes; apout yourself' says he. 'I'm sorry for you--for ta ting
tat's to pe tone with him tat killed a man aal pecaase he pore my
name, and he wasn't a son of mine at aall! Tere is no pot in hell
teep enough to put him in!'--'Ten tey must make haste and tig
one,' says herself; 'for she 'll pe hangt in a tay or two.'--So
she 'll wake up, and beholt it was a tream!"
"An' no sic an ill dream efter a', daddy!" said Malcolm.
"Not an efil tream, my son, when it makes her aalmost wish that
she hadn't peen quite killing ta tog! Last night she would haf made
a puoy of his skin like any other tog's skin, and totay--no, my
son, it wass a fery efil tream. And to be tolt tat ta creat tefil,
Clenlyon herself, was not fery much tamned!--it wass a fery efil
tream, my son."
"Weel, daddy--maybe ye 'll tak it for ill news, but ye killed
naebody."
"Tid she'll not trive her turk into ta tog?" cried Duncan fiercely.
"Och hone! och hone!--Then she 's ashamed of herself for efer,
when she might have tone it. And it 'll hafe to be tone yet!"
He paused a few moments, and then resumed:
"And she'll not pe coing to be hangt?--Maype tat will pe petter,
for you wouldn't hafe liket to see your olt cranfather to pe hangt,
Malcolm, my son.
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