"But surely," said Hugh, "putting other considerations aside, you
must allow that the colour, especially when mingled with that of the
corn, is beautiful."

"Deil hae't! It's jist there 'at I canna bide the sicht o't.
Beauty ye may ca' 't! I see nane o't. I'd as sune hae a
reid-heedit bairn, as see thae reid-coatit rascals i' my corn. I
houp ye're no gaen to cram stuff like that into the heeds o' the twa
laddies. Faith! we'll hae them sawin' thae ill-faured weyds amang
the wheyt neist. Poapies ca' ye them? Weel I wat they're the
Popp's ain bairns, an' the scarlet wumman to the mither o' them.
Ha! ha! ha!"

Having manifested both wit and Protestantism in the closing sentence
of his objurgation, the laird relapsed into good humour and
stupidity. Hugh would gladly have spent such hours in David's
cottage instead; but he was hardly prepared to refuse his company to
Mr. Glasford.




CHAPTER VI.

THE LAIRD'S LADY.

Ye archewyves, standith at defence,
Sin ye been strong, as is a great camayle;
Ne suffer not that men you don offence.