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my pody, put you are wrang there my friend,” answered Robin, with composure, “it is your fat Englishmen that eat up our Scots cattle, puir things. “I wish there was a summat to eat up their drovers,” said another; “a plain Englishman canna make bread within a kenning of them.” “Or an honest servant keep his master’s favour, but they will come sliding in between him and the sunshine,” said the bailiff. “If these pe jokes,” said Robin Oig, with the same composure, “there is ower mony jokes upon one man.” “It’s no joke, but downright earnest,” said the bailiff. “Hark ye, Mr Robin Ogg, or whatever is your name, it’s right we should tell you that we are all of one opinion, and that is, that you, Mr Robin Ogg, have behaved to our friend Mr Hairy Wakefield here, like a raff and a blackguard.” “Nae doubt, nae doubt,” answered Robin, with great composure; “and you are a set of very feeling judges, for whose prains or pehaviour I wad not gie a pinch of sneeshing. If Mr Harry Waakfelt kens where he is wranged, he kens where he may be righted.” “He speaks truth,” said Wakefield, who had listened to what passed, divided between the offence which he had taken at Robin’s late behaviour, and the revival of his habitual habits of friendship.
He now rose, and went towards Robin, who got up from his seat as he approached, and held out his hand. “That’s right, Harry——go it——serve him out,” resounded on all sides——“tip him the nailer——show him the mill.” “Hold your peace all of you, and be———————,” said Wakefield; and then addressing his comrade, he took him by the extended hand, with something alike of respect and defiance. “Robin,” he said, “thou hast used me ill enough this day; but if you mean like a frank fellow, to shake hands, and take a tussel for love on the sod, why I’ll forgie the man, and we shall be better friends than ever.” “And would it not pe potter to be cood friends without more of the matter?” said Robin ; “we will be much petter friendships with our panes hale than broken.”
