I bid you beware.

Conduct me to the tent of my sons!" At this point an aged man of some authority stood forward and gazed intently at James the Gross, looking beneath his hand as at an extensive prospect of which he wished to take in all the details.
"Lads," he said, "hold your hands--it rins i' my head that this craitur' may be Jamie, the fat Yerl o' Avondale.

We'll let him gang by in peace.

His sons are decent lads." There came from the hillmen a chorus of "Avondale he may be--there's nae sayin' what they can breed up there by Stra'ven.

But we are weel assured that he is nae richt Douglas.