e, gin you're wise," quo' Cursecowl, still cleaving away--"or I'll maybe
bring ye in for the sheep's-head it was trying to make off with its
teeth. Do ye understand that?" And he gave a girn, that stretched his
mouth from ear to ear.

This was too much for the subterranean daughter of Eve; it was like
putting a red-hot poker among the coals of her own pit. "Oh, ye
incarnate cannibal!" she bawled out, doubling her nieve, and shaking it
in Reuben's face; "if ye have a conscience at a', think black-burning
shame o' yoursell! Just look, ye bluidy salvage; just take a look there,
my bonny man, o' your handiwark now. Isn't that very pretty?"--"Aff wi'
ye," continued Cursecowl, still cleaving away with the chopping-axe, and
muttering a volley of curses through the knife, which he held between his
teeth--"Aff wi' ye; and keep a calm sough."

"The dog's no mine, or I wadna have cared sae muckle. Siccan a like
beast! Siccan a fright to be seen!!! I'faith I think shame to tak' it
hame again!! Ay, man, ye're a pretty fellow! Ye've run fast when the
noses were dealing; ye're a bonny man to hack off the poor dumb animal's
tail. If it had been a Christian like yoursell, it wad have mattered
less--but a puir bit dumb harmless animal!"

"Aff wi' ye there, and nane o' your chatter," thundered Reuben, stopping
in his cleaving, and turning the side of his red face round to the woman.
"Flee--vanish--and be cursed to ye--baith you and your doug thegither, ye
infernal limmer! It's well for't, luckie, it was not his head instead of
its tail. Ye had better steik your gab--cut your stick--and pack off,
gin ye be wise."

"Think shame--think shame--think black-burning shame o' yoursell, ye born
and bred ruffian!" roared out the wife at the top story of her
voice--shaking her doubled nieve before him--stamping her heels on the
causey--then, drawing herself up, and holding her hands on her
hainches--"Just look, I tell ye, you unhanged blackguard, at your
precious handywark! Just look, what think ye of that now? Tak' another
look now, ower that fief-like fiery nose o' yours, ye regardless Pagan!"

Flesh and blood could stand this no longer; and I saw Cursecowl's anger
boiling up within him, as in a red-hot fiery furnace.

"Wait a wee, my woman," muttered Cursecowl to himself, as, swearing
between his teeth, he hurried into the killing-booth.

Furious as the woman, however, was, she had yet enough of common sense
remaining within