Mr. MacGrawler, into whose eyes the palmistry of Long Ned had brought
tears of sincere feeling, and who had hitherto been rubbing the afflicted
part, now grumbled forth,--

"You may say what you please, Mr. Pepper, but it is not often in my
country that men of genius are seen performing the part of cook to
robbers!"

"No!" quoth Tomlinson, "they are performing the more profitable part of
robbers to cooks, eh!"

"Damme, you're out," cried Long Ned,--"for in that country there are
either no robbers, because there is nothing to rob; or the inhabitants
are all robbers, who have plundered one another, and made away with the
booty!"

"May the de'il catch thee!" said MacGrawler, stung to the quick,--for,
like all Scots, he was a patriot; much on the same principle as a woman
who has the worst children makes the best mother.

"The de'il," said Ned, mimicking the "silver sound," as Sir W. Scott had
been pleased facetiously to call the "mountain tongue" (the Scots in
general seem to think it is silver, they keep it so carefully) "the
de'il,--_MacDeil_, you mean, sure, the gentleman must have been a
Scotchman!"

The sage grinned in spite; but remembering the patience of Epictetus when
a slave, and mindful also of the strong arm of Long Ned, he curbed his
temper, and turned the beefsteaks with his fork.