'Hoots! ye winna say baith, grannie,' returned Robert, who, even at
the age of fourteen, when once compelled to assert himself, assumed
a modest superiority.

'Nane o' sic impidence!' retorted Mrs. Falconer. 'I wonner whaur ye
learn that. But it's nae wonner. Evil communications corrupt gude
mainners. Ye're a lost prodigal, Robert, like yer father afore ye.
I hae jist been sittin' here thinkin' wi' mysel' whether it wadna
be better for baith o' 's to lat ye gang an' reap the fruit o' yer
doin's at ance; for the hard ways is the best road for
transgressors. I'm no bund to keep ye.'

'Weel, weel, I s' awa' to Shargar. Him and me 'ill haud on
thegither better nor you an' me, grannie. He's a puir cratur, but
he can stick till a body.'

'What are ye haverin' aboot Shargar for, ye heepocreet loon? Ye'll
no gang to Shargar, I s' warran'! Ye'll be efter that vile limmer
that's turnt my honest hoose intil a sty this last fortnicht.'

'Grannie, I dinna ken what ye mean.'

'She kens, than. I sent her aff like ane o' Samson's foxes, wi' a
firebrand at her tail. It's a pity it wasna tied atween the twa o'
ye.'

'Preserve 's, grannie! Is't possible ye hae ta'en Shargar for ane
o' wumman-kin'?'

'I ken naething aboot Shargar, I tell ye. I ken that Betty an' me