And all the while Watty's peculiar burring sound kept on and increased, the dog looking hard at him with his ears up, and finally giving a short, sharp bark. "Do you hear that, Watty?" said Steve. "Ay; she heart ta tyke." "Skene wants the second verse of the song." "Then he'll ha'e to wait," said the boy; and he went on again with the monotonous burring sound which had first attracted Steve's attention. "What's the matter with him, Andra?" "She's making up a lang story spout ta cook. She's been retty to fecht, and ta cook said she'd ding her het again' ta galley if she tidn't pick ta goose." "Ay, but she'll mak' my ploot poil pefore she's tone," cried Watty fiercely, and scattering a handful of feathers so that some of them and the down flew on to Steve. "Make your ploot poil?" cried Steve, laughing. "Ay; and it poils now!" cried Watty, scattering some more feathers purposely, so that they should adhere to his trousers. "There, I told you he was singing, Andra. His ploot poils, and he was singing like a kettle." "My mither sent me to sea to learn to pe a sailor, and ta skipper's made me ta cook's poy!" cried Watty vehemently. "Then you shouldn't have been such a coward, Watty. There, don't be in a temper, and I'll speak to the captain to let you come back to the other duties." "Hey, put she's a puir feckless potie, and dinna ken the when she's well off. She wishes ta captain wad pit her in ta galley, to get ta fairst wee tasties of all ta gravies and good things ta cook potie mak's." "But he's tired of it now, Andra. I say, Watty, look here; you're smothering me with that fluff!" "Then she should get ower to ta ither side of ta fessel." "I'll knock you to the other side of the vessel if you're saucy!" cried Steve hotly. "See if I speak to the captain for you now!" "She dinna want ye to speak. She can speak her ainsel' when she wants, and she ton't want; for she'll stop in ta galley the noo till we get pack to Glasgie and goo pefore ta magistrates aboot it. There!" This last word was accompanied by a handful of down thrown in the air so that it might be wafted right over Steve. This was too much for the boy's equanimity, and, hot with passion, he snatched a handful of the down from the pail and rubbed it in Watty's shock head, to Andrew's great delight. "Weel tone, laddie!" he cried; "tat's ponnie. Gie her anither handfu' of the saft doon."