"
"Soul of 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 is no joke, but downright earnest," said the bailiff. "Harkye,
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. Harry 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 gae 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 acts of friendship.
He now rose and went towards Robin, who got up from his seat as he
approached, and held out his hand.
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