“Ay; my gran’father plays _them_.” “But you’re not in the Highlands here: how come you to have bagpipes?” “It’s a stray bag, an’ no more. But the fowk here likes the cry o’ ’t weel eneuch, an’ hae ’t to wauk them ilka mornin’. Yon was my gran’father ye heard afore I fired the gun. Yon was his pipes waukin’ them, honest fowk.” “And what made you fire the gun in that reckless way? Don’t you know it is very dangerous?” “Dangerous, mem--my leddy, I mean! There was naething intill ’t but a pennyworth o’ blastin’ pooder. It wadna blaw the froth aff o’ the tap o’ a jaw (_billow_).” “It nearly blew me out of my small wits, though.” “I’m verra sorry it frichtit ye. But, gien I _had_ seen ye, I bude to fire the gun.” “I don’t understand you quite; but I suppose you mean it was your business to fire the gun.” “Jist that, my leddy.” “Why?” “’Cause it’s been decreet i’ the toon cooncil that at sax o’ the clock ilka mornin’ that gun’s to be fired--at least sae lang ’s my lord, the marquis, is at Portlossie Hoose. Ye see it’s a royal brugh, this, an’ it costs but aboot a penny, an’ it’s gran’ like to hae a sma’ cannon to fire. An’ gien I was to neglec’ it, my gran’father wad gang on skirlin’--what’s the English for _skirlin’_, my leddy--skirlin’ o’ the pipes?” “I don’t know. But from the sound of the word I should suppose it stands for _screaming_.” “Aye, that’s it; only _screamin’s_ no sae guid as _skirlin’_. My gran’father’s an auld man, as I was gaein’ on to say, an’ has hardly breath eneuch to fill the bag; but he wad be efter dirkin’ onybody ’at said sic a thing, and till he heard that gun he wad gang on blawin’ though he sud burst himsel’. There’s naebody kens the smeddum in an auld hielan’ man!”