"
"I wish ye wadna speak that gate," said Hobbie. "Ye ken yoursell,
Elshie, naebody judges you to be ower canny; now, I'll tell ye just ae
word for a'--ye hae spoken as muckle as wussing ill to me and mine; now,
if ony mischance happen to Grace, which God forbid, or to mysell; or to
the poor dumb tyke; or if I be skaithed and injured in body, gudes, or
gear, I'll no forget wha it is that it's owing to."
"Out, hind!" exclaimed the Dwarf; "home! home to your dwelling, and
think on me when you find what has befallen there."
"Aweel, aweel," said Hobbie, mounting his horse, "it serves naething to
strive wi' cripples,--they are aye cankered; but I'll just tell ye
ae thing, neighbour, that if things be otherwise than weel wi' Grace
Armstrong, I'se gie you a scouther if there be a tar-barrel in the five
parishes."
So saying, he rode off; and Elshie, after looking at him with a scornful
and indignant laugh, took spade and mattock, and occupied himself in
digging a grave for his deceased favourite.
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