'I can mak' better o' 't ony day.' 'But there's yer hoose an' kailyard,' suggested Peddie.
'They're ma ain!--a' ma ain! He canna lay 's finger on onything o' mine but my servan' lass,' cried the weaver, slapping his thigh-bone--for there was little else to slap.
Meg, at the moment, was taking her exit-glance.

She went straight to Miss Napier.
'Willie MacGregor's had eneuch, mem, an' a drappy ower.' 'Sen' Caumill doon to Mrs.MacGregor to say wi' my compliments that she wad do weel to sen' for him,' was the response.
Meantime he grew more than troublesome.

Ever on the outlook, when sober, after the foibles of others, he laid himself open to endless ridicule when in drink, which, to tell the truth, was a rare occurrence.

He was in the midst of a prophetic denunciation of the vices of the nobility, and especially of Lord Rothie, when Meg, entering the room, went quietly behind his chair and whispered: 'Maister MacGregor, there's a lassie come for ye.' 'I'm nae in,' he answered, magnificently.
'But it's the mistress 'at's sent for ye.

Somebody's wantin' ye.' 'Somebody maun want me, than .-- As I was sayin', Mr.Cheerman and gentlemen--' 'Mistress MacGregor 'll be efter ye hersel', gin ye dinna gang,' said Meg.
'Let her come.