to show how the best and greatest
actions are misconstrued among sinful and ignorant men:

"You say, Samuel, that I hired you myself--that I have been a good
enough master to you, and have paid you your weekly wages punctually.
Now, how is it that you say this, knowing, as you do, that I never
hired you, and never paid you a sixpence of wages in the whole course
of my life, excepting this last month?"

"Ye may as weel say, master, that water's no water, or that, stanes are
no stanes. But that's just your gate, an' it's a great pity, aye to do
a thing an profess the clean contrair. Weel then, since you havena paid
me ony wages, an' I can prove day and date when I was hired, an' came
hame to your service, will you be sae kind as to pay me now? That's the
best way o' curing a man o' the mortal disease o' leasing-making that I
ken o'."

"I should think that Penpunt and Cameronian principles would not admit
of a man taking twice payment for the same article."

"In sic a case as this, sir, it disna hinge upon principles, but a
piece o' good manners; an' I can tell you that, at sic a crisis, a
Cameronian is a gay-an weel-bred man. He's driven to this, and he maun
either make a breach in his friend's good name, or in his purse; an'
oh, sir, whilk o' thae, think you, is the most precious? For instance,
an a Galloway drover had comed to the town o' Penpunt, an' said to a
Cameronian (the folk's a' Cameronians there), 'Sir, I want to buy your
cow,' 'Vera weel,' says the Cameronian, 'I just want to sell the cow,
sae gie me twanty punds Scots, an' take her w' ye.' It's a bargain. The
drover takes away the cow, an' gies the Cameronian his twanty pund
Scots. But after that, he meets him again on the white sands, amang a'
the drovers an' dealers o' the land, an' the Gallowayman, he says to
the Cameronian, afore a' thae witnesses, 'Come, Master Whiggam, I hae
never paid you for yon bit useless cow that I bought. I'll pay her the
day, but you maun mind the luck-penny; there's muckle need for 't'--or
something to that purpose. The Cameronian then turns out to be a civil
man, an' canna bide to make the man baith a feele an' liar at the same
time, afore a' his associates; an' therefore he pits his principles aff
at the side, to be kind o' sleepin' partner, as it war, an' brings up
his good breeding to stand at the counter: he pockets the money, gies
the Galloway drover time o' day, an' comes his way. An' wha's to blame?
Man mind yourse