bogles enow in his time, and kens a' the gaits and fashions o' them.
PHEMY.
Has he indeed.
BAWLDY.
Ay, certes; by his ain tale, at least. We hae heard o' mawkins starting up in the shapes of auld women, whan chased to a cross running burn, but Duncan has seen it. Nae wonner if he be feared!
ANDERSON.
Weel, than, an thou will sit up, he'll tell thee stories to keep thee frae wearying; and I dinna care if I join ye mysell for an hour or sae, for I'm naewise disposed for my ain bed in that dark turret-chaumer.
BAWLDY.
But gin ye keep company wi' stable loons and herds, Mr. Anderson, ye'll gi' them, nae doubt, a wee smack o' your ain higher calling. Is the key o' the cellar in your pouch? My tongue's unco dry after a' this fright.
ANDERSON.
Awa', ye pawky thief! Dost tu think that I'll herrie the laird's cellar for thee or ony body?—But there's the whisky bottle in my ain cupboard, wi' some driblets in it yet, that ye may tak; and deil a drap mair shall ye get, an
