gie'd
him the route, unless--unless she had a notion o' the Frenchman frae the
first glisk o' him. There's no accoontin' for tastes; clap a bunnet on a
tawtie-bogle, wi' a cock to the ae side that's kin' o' knowin', and ony
woman'll jump at his neck, though ye micht pap peas through the place
whaur his wame should be. The Frenchy's no' my taste onyway; and noo,
there's Sim! Just think o' Sim gettin' the dirty gae-bye frae a glaikit
lassie hauf his age; and no' his equal in the three parishes, wi' a leg
to tak' the ee o' a hal dancin'-school, and auld Knapdale's money
comin' till him whenever Knapdale's gane, and I'm hearin' he's in the
deid-thraws already. Ill fa' the day fotch the Frenchy! The race o'
them never brocht ocht in my generation to puir Scotland worth a bodle,
unless it micht be a new fricassee to fyle a stamach wi'. I'm fair bate
to ken what this Coont wants here. 'Drimdarroch,' says he, but that's
fair rideeculous, unless it was the real auld bauld Drimdarroch, and
that's nae ither than Doom. I winna wonder if he heard o' Leevie ere
ever he left the France."

Annapla began to drowse at the fire. He saw her head nod, and came round
with the coat in his hand to confirm his suspicion that she was about to
fall asleep. Her eyes were shut.

"Wauken up, Luckie!" he cried, disgusted at this absence of
appreciation. "What ails the body? Ye're into your damnable dwaam again.
There's them that's gowks enough to think ye're seein' Sichts, when it's
neither mair nor less than he'rt-sick laziness, and I was ance ane o'
them mysel'. Ye hinnae as muckle o' the Sicht as wad let ye see when
Leevie was makin' a gowk o' ye to gar ye hang oot signals for her auld
jo. A bonny-like brewster-wife ye'll mak', I warrant!" He tapped her,
not unkindly, on the head with the back of his brush, and brought her to
earth again.

"Are ye listenin', ye auld runt?" said he. "I'm goin' doon to the
toon i' the aifternoon wi' this braw coat and money for Monsher's inn
accoont, and if ye're no' mair wide-awake by that time, there's deil the
cries'll gae in wi' auld MacNair."

The woman laughed, not at all displeased with herself nor with her rough
admirer, and set to some trivial office. Mungo was finished with the
coat; he held it out at arm's length, admiring its plenitude of lace,
and finally put off his own hodden garment that he might try on the
Chamberlain's.

"God!" said he, "it fits me like an empty ale-cask. I thocht the Coont