"Is this you, Robin M'Combich, or your wraith ?" "It is Robin Oig M'Combich," answered the Highlander, "and it is not.
But never mind that, put pe giving me the skene-dhu." "What! you are for back to the Highlands! The devil! Have you selt all off before the fair?
This beats all for quick markets!" "I have not sold--I am not going north--maype I will never go north again.

Give me pack my dirk, Hugh Morrison, or there will pe words petween us." "Indeed, Robin, I'll be better advised before I gie it back to you; it is a wanchancy weapon in a Highlandman's hand, and I am thinking you will be about some harns-breaking." "Prutt, trutt! let me have my weapon," said Robin Oig impatiently.
"Hooly and fairly," said his well-meaning friend.

"I'll tell you what will do better than these dirking doings.

Ye ken Highlander, and Lowlander, and Border-men are a' ae man's bairns when you are over the Scots dyke.

See, the Eskdale callants, and fighting Charlie of Liddesdale, and the Lockerby lads, and the four Dandies of Lustruther, and a wheen mair grey plaids, are coming up behind; and if you are wranged, there is the hand of a Manly Morrison, we'll see you righted, if Carlisle and Stanwix baith took up the feud." "To tell you the truth," said Robin Oig, desirous of eluding the suspicions of his friend, "I have enlisted with a party of the Black Watch, and must march off to-morrow morning." "Enlisted! Were you mad or drunk?
You must buy yourself off.