"That depen's on my lord's definition o' proper."

"Definition!" repeated the marquis.

"Is 't ower lang a word, my lord?" asked Malcolm.

The marquis only smiled.


"I ken what ye mean. It's a strange word in a fisher lad's mou',
ye think. But what for should na a fisher lad hae a smatterin' o'
loagic, my lord? For Greek or Laitin there's but sma' opportunity
o' exerceese in oor pairts; but for loagic, a fisher body may aye
haud his ban' in i' that. He can aye be tryin' 't upo' 's wife, or
's guid mother, or upo' 's boat, or upo' the fish whan they winna
tak. Loagic wad save a heap o' cursin' an' ill words--amo' the
fisher fowk, I mean, my lord."

"Have you been to college?"

"Na, my lord--the mair's the pity! But I've been to the school
sin' ever I can min'."

"Do they teach logic there?"

"A kin' o' 't. Mr Graham sets us to try oor ban' whiles--jist to
mak 's a bit gleg (quick and keen), ye ken."

"You don't mean you go to school still?"