"And I daresay, now," pursued the stranger, in tones if anything perhaps
a trifle over-hearty, "I daresay, now, the devil a drop of it will ever
have helped to line the King's pocket? Eh?"
But here, again, Donald's knowledge of English was at fault; he "wad no
pe kennin' fhat his honour's sel' wad pe sayin'."
"And what might your name be?" presently inquired this over-inquisitive
guest.
"Ach, it micht joost pe Tonal," said the Highlander.
"Donald? Aye, and what more than Donald?"
"Ooh, there wull pe no muckle mair. They will joost be calling me Tonal
M'Tonal."
"Donald M'Donald? Aye, aye. I thought so. Well, Donald, I'm an excise
officer, and you've been distilling whisky contrary to the law. I'll
just overhaul your premises, and then you'll be coming with me as a
prisoner. And you'd best come quietly."
"Preesoner?--_Preesoner_? Her honour will no be thinkin' o' sic a thing.
There micht aiblins pe a thing or twa in ta hoose tat his honour wad pe
likin' to tak' away, but it iss no possible tat he can do onything wi'
her nainsel'."
"It's no use talking, my mannie. Duty's duty. You must come wi' me."
"Ochon! Ochon! Tuty wull pe a pad thing when it's a wee pit pisness sic
as this. Yer honour wull joost be takin' the pits o' things in ta bothy,
an' her nainsel' wull gang awa' an' no say naething aboot it at aal.
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