"
"God forgie me, sir," said Richie, much surprised at finding the
supposed southron converted into a native Scot, "I took your honour
for an Englisher! But I hope there was naething wrang in standing up
for ane's ain country's credit in a strange land, where all men cry
her down?"
"Do you call it for your country's credit, to show that she has a
lying, puffing rascal, for one of her children?" said Master George.
"But come, man, never look grave on it,--as you have found a
countryman, so you have found a friend, if you deserve one--and
especially if you answer me truly."
"I see nae gude it wad do me to speak ought else but truth," said the
worthy North Briton.
"Well, then--to begin," said Master George, "I suspect you are a son
of old Mungo Moniplies, the flesher, at the West-Port."
"Your honour is a witch, I think," said Richie, grinning.
"And how dared you, sir, to uphold him for a noble?"
"I dinna ken, sir," said Richie, scratching his head; "I hear muckle
of an Earl of Warwick in these southern parts,--Guy, I think his name
was,--and he has great reputation here for slaying dun cows, and
boars, and such like; and I am sure my father has killed more cows and
boars, not to mention bulls, calves, sheep, ewes, lambs, and pigs,
than the haill Baronage of England."
"Go to! you are a shrewd knave," said Master George; "charm your
tongue, and take care of saucy answers.
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