The ample Cumbrian kitchen
would have afforded plenty of room, even for a
larger separation.
Robin thus seated, proceeded to light his pipe,
and call for a pint of twopenny.
``We have no twopence ale,'' answered Ralph
Heskett the landlord; ``but as thou find'st thy own
tobacco, it's like thou mayst find thy own liquor
too---it's the wont of thy country, I wot.''
``Shame, goodman,'' said the landlady, a blithe
bustling housewife, hastening herself to supply the
guest with liquor---``Thou knowest well enow
what the strange man wants, and it's thy trade to
be civil, man. Thou shouldst know, that if the
Scot likes a small pot, he pays a sure penny.''
Without taking any notice of this nuptial dialogue,
the Highlander took the flagon in his hand,
and addressing the company generally, drank the
interesting toast of ``Good markets,'' to the party
assembled.
``The better that the wind blew fewer dealers
from the north,'' said one of the farmers, ``and
fewer Highland runts to cat up the English meadows.''
``Saul of my pody, put you are wrang there,
my friend,'' answered Robin, with composure; ``it
is your fat Englishmen that eat up our Scots cattle,
puir things.
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