Maybe he thought a
Scotsman could not like a black Indian princess, though she was with her
grand shawls about her, and her jewelled turban, and diamonds and
pearls, and all that; and maybe, Aminadab, he thought"--and here Janet
lowered her husky voice--"that it was just for these fine things he
wanted her, rich though he was himself. Yet, strange enough too, the
Nabob had promised the man who should marry his daughter the weight of
herself in fine Indian gold, weighed in a balance, as her tocher. Heard
ye ever the like of a tocher, man?"
"That would depend upon her size and weight, Janet, lass. Now, had you a
tocher like that, it would be a gey business, I think,--fourteen
potato-stones at the very least, I would say, eh?"--and he must get quit
of the mouthful before he could finish--"Eh, Janet?"
"And if you go on at that rate with my pork, you will not, by-and-by, be
much behind me. But, guid faith, Aminadab, I'm not ashamed, lad, of my
size. A poor, smoke-dried, shrivelled cook shames her guid savoury
dishes, intended to fatten mankind and make them jolly. But you are
right about the offer of the Nabob.
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