"She'll be the death o' somebody some day. The sooner we get rid
of her the better. Just look at that," he added, as the mare laid
back her ears and made a vicious snap at nothing in particular.

"She was a favourite o' my--maister, the marquis," returned the
youth, "an' I wad ill like to pairt wi' her."

"I'll take any offer in reason for her," said the factor. "You'll
just ride her to Forres market next week, and see what you can get
for her. I do think she's quieter since you took her in hand."

"I'm sure she is--but it winna laist a day. The moment I lea'
her, she'll be as ill's ever," said the youth. "She has a kin' a
likin' to me, 'cause I gi'e her sugar, an' she canna cast me; but
she's no a bit better i' the hert o' her yet. She's an oonsanctifeed
brute. I cudna think o' sellin' her like this."

"Lat them 'at buys tak' tent (beware)," said the factor.

"Ow ay! lat them; I dinna objec'; gien only they ken what she's
like afore they buy her," rejoined Malcolm.

The factor burst out laughing. To his judgment the youth had spoken
like an idiot.

"We'll not send you to sell," he said. "Stoat shall go with you,
and you shall have nothing to do but hold the mare and your own
tongue."