Christie that was in the panniers, would cloyed a dud from them. But ye are a' altered from the good auld rules, and no wonder that you scour the cramp-ring, and trine to the cheat so often. Yes, you are a' altered—you'll eat the goodman's meat, drink his drink, sleep on the strammel in his barn, and break his house and cut his throat for his pains! There's blood on your hands too, ye dogs—more than ever came there by fair fighting. See how ye'll die then—lang it was ere he died—he strove, and strove sair, and could neither die nor live;–but you–half the country will see how ye'll grace the woodie."
The party set up a hoarse laugh at Meg's prophecy.
"What made you come back here?" said one of the gypsies, "you old beldam? could ye not have staid where you were, and spaed fortunes to the Cumberland flats?—Bing out and tour, ye old devil, and see that nobody has scented; that's all you're good for now."
