We can sing twa or three o'
thae blackleg sangs o' Tam Donaldson's, an' play them hame."
"That's the plan, Jamie," replied Tam, who had suddenly seen himself
immortalized through his parodies of certain popular songs. "Let us get
as mony women an' callans as possible, and we can mak' a damn'd guid
turnout. We'll sing like linties, an' drum like thunder, an' the
blacklegs'll feel as if they were goin' through Purgatory to the tune
o':"
Tattie Wullie, Tattie Wullie,
Tattie Wullie Shaw,
Where's the sense o' workin', Wullie?--
Faith, ye're lookin' braw.
or
Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,
Peter, man, I say,
Ye've been workin', ye've been workin',
Ye've been workin' the day.
Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,
If ye work ony mair,
Peter Fleming, Peter Fleming,
Your heart will be sair.
With little difficulty a band of men, women and children was organized
and proceeded to the pit to await the coming up of the culprits. Hour
after hour they waited patiently, determined not to miss them, and the
time was spent in light jesting and singing ribald songs.
"I wadna' like if my faither was a blackleg," observed Mysie Maitland to
the girl next her.
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