At first I was completely bamboozled, and almost dung stupid, though I kent one word of French which I wanted to put to him, so I cried through, "Canna you speak Scotcha, Mounseer ?" He had not the politeness to stop and make answer, but just went on with his string of haivers, without either rhyme or reason, which we could make neither top, tail, nor main of.
It was a sore trial to us all, putting us to our wit's end, and how to come on was past all visible comprehension; when Tommy Staytape, giving his elbow a rub, said, "Od, maister, I wager something that he's broken loose frae Penicuik.

We have him like a rotten in a fa'." On Penicuik being mentioned, we heard the foreign creature in the coal- house groaning out, "och," and "ochone," and "parbleu," and "Mysie Rabble,"-- that I fancy was his sweetheart at home, some bit French quean, that wondered he was never like to come from the wars and marry her.

I thought on this, for his voice was mournful, though I could not understand the words; and kenning he was a stranger in a far land, my bowels yearned within me with compassion towards him.
I would have given half-a-crown at that blessed moment to have been able to wash my hands free of him; but I swithered, and was like the cuddie between the two bundles of hay.

At long and last a thought struck me, which was to give the deluded simple creature a chance of escape; reckoning that, if he found his way home, he would see the shame and folly of fighting against us any more; and, marrying Mysie Rabble, live a contented and peaceful life, under his own fig and bay tree.

So wishing him a sound sleep, I cried through the door, "Mounseer, gooda nighta;" decoying away Benjie and Tommy Staytape into the house.