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Scott, Walter, Sir, 1771-1832

"Waverley: or, 'Tis sixty years since"

He hastened, not without a
curse on the intricacies of a Saxon breeches pocket, or SPLEUCHAN, as
he called it, to deposit the treasure in his fob; and then, as if he
conceived the benevolence called for some requital on his part,
he gathered close up to Edward, with an expression of countenance
peculiarly knowing, and spoke in an undertone, 'If his honour thought ta
auld deevil Whig carle was a bit dangerous, she could easily provide for
him, and tell ane ta wiser.'
'How, and in what manner?'
'Her ain sell,' replied Callum, 'could wait for him a wee bit frae the
toun, and kittle his quarters wi' her SKENE-OCCLE.'
'Skene-occle! what's that?'
Callum unbuttoned his coat, raised his left arm, and, with an emphatic
nod, pointed to the hilt of a small dirk, snugly deposited under it,
in the lining of his jacket. Waverley thought he had misunderstood his
meaning; he gazed in his face, and discovered in Callum's very handsome,
though embrowned features, just the degree of roguish malice with which
a lad of the same age in England would have brought forward a plan for
robbing an orchard.
'Good God, Callum, would you take the man's life?'
'Indeed,' answered the young desperado, 'and I think he has had just a
lang enough lease o't, when he's for betraying honest folk, that come to
spend siller at his public.


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