rose, 'it's Lord Sandy himsel'!'

'I thank you, gentleman,' he said, with a mixture of irony and
contempt, 'for the interest you take in my private history. I
should have thought it had been as little to the taste as it is to
the honour of some of you to listen to such a farrago of lies.'

'Lees! my lord,' said MacGregor, starting to his feet. Mr. Cocker
looked dismayed, and Mr. Lammie sheepish--all of them dazed and
dumbfoundered, except the old weaver, who, as his lordship turned to
leave the room, added:

'Lang lugs (ears) suld be made o' leather, my lord, for fear they
grow het wi' what they hear.'

Lord Rothie turned in a rage. He too had been drinking.

'Kick that toad into the street, or, by heaven! it's the last drop
any of you drink in this house!' he cried.

'The taed may tell the poddock (frog) what the rottan (rat) did i'
the taed's hole, my lord,' said MacGregor, whom independence,
honesty, bile, and drink combined to render fearless.

Lord Sandy left the room without another word. His factor took his
hat and followed him. The rest dropped into their seats in silence.
Mr. Lammie was the first to speak.

'There's a pliskie!' he said.