'ler, whan it's
twal o'clock, an' the kirkyaird fowk thinkin' aboot risin'. Fegs, I had
a watch o' my father's, an' I regairdit it wi' a reverence mair like a
human bein': the second time it played me that pliskie, I dang oot its
guts upo' the loupin'-on-stane at the door o' the chop. But lat the
watch sit: whaur's the wife? Ye canna be a man yet wantin' the wife--by
yer ain statement.'

'The watch cam unsoucht, Mr. MacGregor, an' I'm thinkin' sae maun the
wife,' answered Robert, laughing.

'Preserve me for ane frae a wife that comes unsoucht,' returned the
weaver. 'But, my lad, there may be some wives that winna come whan they
are soucht. Preserve me frae them too!--Noo, maybe ye dinna ken what I
mean--but tak ye tent what ye're aboot. Dinna ye think 'at ilka bonnie
lass 'at may like to haud a wark wi' ye 's jist ready to mairry ye aff
han' whan ye say, "Noo, my dawtie."--An' ae word mair, Robert: Young
men, especially braw lads like yersel', 's unco ready to fa' in love wi'
women fit to be their mithers. An' sae ye see--'

He was interrupted by the entrance of a girl. She had a shawl over her
head, notwithstanding it was summer weather, and crept in hesitatingly,
as if she were not quite at one with herself as to her coming purchase.
Approaching a boy behind the counter on the opposite side of the shop,
she asked for something, and he proceeded to serve her. Robert could not
help thinking, from the one glimpse of her face he had got through the
dusk, that he had seen her before. Suddenly the vision of an earthen
floor with a pool of brown sunlight upon it, bare feet, brown hair, and
soft eyes, mingled with a musk odour wafted from Arabian fairyland, rose
before him: it was Jessie Hewson.

'I ken that lassie,' he said, and moved to get down from the counter on
which he too had seated himself.

'Na, na,' whispered the manufacturer, laying, like the Ancient Mariner,
a brown skinny hand of restraint upon Robert's arm--'na, na, never heed
her. Ye maunna speyk to ilka lass 'at ye ken.--Poor thing! she's been
doin' something wrang, to gang slinkin' aboot i' the gloamin' like a
baukie (bat), wi' her plaid ower her heid. Dinna fash wi' her.'

'Nonsense!' returned Robert, with indignation. 'What for shouldna I
speik till her? She's a decent lassie--a dochter o' James Hewson, the
cottar at Bodyfauld. I ken her fine.'

He said this in a whisper; but the girl seemed to hear it, for she left
the shop with a perturbation whi