But where did yon lang-leggit, long-lockit, Fish River moss-trooping callant win haud o' him?
Answer me that, Jeems.' 'That says nothing,' answered Jim.

'I'm not supposed to trace back every horse in the country and find out all the people that owned him since he was a foal.

He's mine now, and mine he'll be till I get a better one.' 'A contuma-acious and stiff-necked generation,' said the old man, walking off and shaking his head.

'And yet he's a fine laddie; a gra-and laddie wad he be with good guidance.

It's the Lord's doing, nae doot, and we daurna fault it; it's wondrous in our een.' That was the way old Mac always talked.