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Malcolm by George MacDonald
page 31 of 753 (04%)

"It's a' kin' o' a custom amo' the fishers. There's some gey puir
fowk amon' 's, ye see, an' when a twa o' them merries, the lave o'
's wants to gie them a bit o' a start like. Sae we a' gang to the
weddin' an' eats an' drinks plenty, an' pays for a' 'at we hae;
and they mak' a guid profit out o' 't, for the things doesna cost
them nearhan' sae muckle as we pay. So they hae a guid han'fu' ower
for the plenishin'."

"And what do they give you to eat and drink?" asked the girl, making
talk.

"Ow, skate an' mustard to eat, an' whusky to drink," answered the
lad, laughing. "But it's mair for the fun. I dinna care muckle
about whusky an' that kin' o' thing mysel'. It's the fiddles an
the dancin' 'at I like."

"You have music, then?"

"Ay; jist the fiddles an' the pipes."

"The bagpipes, do you mean?"

"Ay; my gran'father plays them."

"But you're not in the Highlands here: how come you to have bagpipes?"

"It's a stray bag, an' no more. But the fowk here likes the cry
o' 't well eneuch, an' hae 't to wauk them ilka mornin'. Yon was
my gran'father ye heard afore I fired the gun. Yon was his pipes
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