"I would have ye to remark, sir," said Alan, "that I havenae broken
bread for near upon ten hours, which will be worse for the breath than
any brose in Scotland."

"I will take no advantages, Mr. Stewart," replied Robin. "Eat and drink;
I'll follow."

Each ate a small portion of the ham and drank a glass of the brose to
Mrs. Maclaren; and then, after a great number of civilities, Robin took
the pipes and played a little spring in a very ranting manner.

"Ay, ye can blow," said Alan; and, taking the instrument from his rival,
he first played the same spring in a manner identical with Robin's; and
then wandered into variations, which, as he went on, he decorated with a
perfect flight of grace-notes, such as pipers love, and call the
"warblers."

I had been pleased with Robin's playing, Alan's ravished me.

"That's no very bad, Mr. Stewart," said the rival, "but ye show a poor
device in your warbler."

"Me!" cried Alan, the blood starting to his face. "I give ye the lie."

"Do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes, then," said Robin, "that ye
seek to change them for the sword?"

"And that's very well said, Mr. Macgregor," returned Alan; "and in the
meantime" (laying a strong accent on the word) "I take back the lie. I
appeal to Duncan."