"It is the story of my faither (now wi' God) and Tod Lapraik.

And the same in your beard," says he; "and keep the tongue of ye inside your Hielant chafts!" In dealing with Highlanders it will be found, and has been shown in history, how well it goes with Lowland gentlefolk; but the thing appears scarce feasible for Lowland commons.

I had already remarked that Andie was continually on the point of quarrelling with our three Macgregors, and now, sure enough, it was to come.
"Thir will be no words to use to shentlemans," says Neil.
"Shentlemans!" cries Andie.

"Shentlemans, ye hielant stot! If God would give ye the grace to see yoursel' the way that ithers see ye, ye would throw your denner up." There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and the black knife was in his hand that moment.
There was no time to think; and I caught the Highlander by the leg, and had him down, and his armed hand pinned out, before I knew what I was doing.

His comrades sprang to rescue him, Andie and I were without weapons, the Gregara three to two.