"Sanna!" she repeated contemptuously. "An' wha's your gran'father,
that I sud tak tent (heed) hoo I wag my tongue ower his richtousness?"

Then, with a sudden change of her tone to one of would be friendliness
--"But what'll ye be seekin' for that bit sawmon trooty, man?"
she said.

As she spoke she approached his basket, and would have taken the
fish in her hands, but Malcolm involuntarily drew back.

"It's gauin' to the Hoose to my lord's brakfast," he said.

"Hoots! ye'll jist lea' the troot wi' me.--Ye'll be seekin' a
saxpence for 't, I reckon," she persisted, again approaching the
basket.

"I tell ye, Mistress Catanach," said Malcolm, drawing back now
in the fear that if she once had it she would not yield it again,
"it's gauin' up to the Hoose!"

"Hoots! there's naebody there seen 't yet. It's new oot o' the
watter."

"But Mistress Courthope was doon last nicht, an' wantit the best
I cud heuk."

"Mistress Courthope! Wha cares for her? A mim, cantin' auld body!
Gie me the trootie, Ma'colm. Ye're a bonny laad, an 'it s' be the
better for ye."