That's a fiddle.' 'That's buff an' styte (stuff and nonsense), Shargar.

Do ye think I dinna ken a fiddle whan I see ane, wi' its guts ootside o' 'ts wame, an' the thoomacks to screw them up wi' an' gar't skirl ?' 'Buff an' styte yersel'!' cried Shargar, in indignation, from the bed.
'Gie's a haud o' 't.' Robert handed him the case.

Shargar undid the hooks in a moment, and revealed the creature lying in its shell like a boiled bivalve.
'I tellt ye sae!' he exclaimed triumphantly.

'Maybe ye'll lippen to me (trust me) neist time.' 'An' I tellt you,' retorted Robert, with an equivocation altogether unworthy of his growing honesty.

'I was cocksure that cudna be a fiddle.
There's the fiddle i' the hert o' 't! Losh! I min' noo.