up the stair an' see if the ruif's aye
on. I think somebody's been hoddin' dianamite in oor garret."

"When I gaed up the stair wi' a licht, what did I see but my Auntie
Leeb's braw lookin'-gless a' to flinders i' the flure? The licht o'
the can'le had burned up against it, an' riven't a' to pieces. When I
turned roond, here's Sandy stappin' ooten his kilt, an' gaen awa' to
pet on his troosers.

"Alick Bowden," says I--an' my very hert was greit--"Alick Bowden"--I
aye ca' him Alick when I'm angry--"this maun be the end o't. I canna
thole nae mair."'

"For ony sake, Bawbie," he brook in, "dinna say naething the nicht, or
I'll pushon or droon mysel'. I wiss I had been smored amo' thae eggs";
an' doon the stair he gaed, wi' his breeks in his oxter.

I juist had to g'wa' to my bed an' lat a'thing aleen, an' I ac'ually
grat mysel' ower asleep. I didna ken o' Sandy comin' till his bed ava;
an' when I raise i' the mornin' a' thing was cleared awa', an' the
garret an' backshop a' sweepit an' in order, an' Sandy was busy i' the
yaird hackin' sticks, an' whistlin' "Hey, Jockie Mickdonal'," juist's
as gin naethin' had happened. He's been stickin' in like a hatter ever
sin' syne, an' has a'thing as neat's ninepence; so I canna say a single
wird. But is't no raley something terriple?

XIII.

SANDY AND BAWBIE'S SPRING HOLIDAY.

Spring holiday! Wheesht! I'll no' forget it in a hurry, I can tell
you. But I never saw't different. Holidays are juist a perfeck
scunner, as far as I've haen to do wi' them; an' as for the rest--I'm
shure I'm aye tireder efter a holiday than at the tailend o' a hard
day's wark. I'm juist a' sair the day wi' sittin' i' the train; an'
yesterday nicht I cud hardly move oot o' the bit, I was that dune.

But I maun tell you the story frae the beginnin'. You've mibby heard
me speak aboot Meg Mortimer's mither that used to bide at The Drum.
Meg's in a big wey o' doin' noo in Edinboro; but I've seen the day, I'm
thinkin'! Weel div I mind when her mither flitted ower frae Powsoddie.
She cam' along to oor hoose to seek the len' o' twa kists, juist to gie
her flittin' some appearance on the cairts. Ay did she, noo-na-na!
What think ye o' that? They were as puir's I kenna what, an' mony a
puckle meal did they get oot o' oor girnil, for Dauvid Mortimer was a
nice man, altho' he was terriple hudden doon wi' the reums.

Weel, Meg gaed awa' to service, an' fell in wi' a weeda man wi' three