ing portly
in all its dimensions broad and long, and as to colour, liker a radish
than any other production in nature. In short, he was as bonny a figure
as ever man of woman born clapped eye on; and was cleaving away, most
devoutly, at a side of black-faced mutton, when the woman, as I said
before, cried out, "Hollo! you man, do ye ken onything about that?"
pointing to the dumb animal that crawled and crouched behind her.

"Aweel, what o't?" cried Cursecowl, still hacking and cleaving away at
the meat.

"What o't? i' faith, billy, that's a gude ane," answered the wife. "But
ye'll no get aff that way; catch me, my man. My name's no Jenny
Mathieson an I haena ye afore your betters. I'll learn ye what
soommenses are."

Looking at her with a look of lightning for a couple of seconds--"Aff wi'
ye, 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 in 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 a 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 weel for't, luckie, it was not its head instead of
its tail. Ye had better steik your gab--cut your stick--and pack off,
gin ye be wise."

"Think sham