i' the wind; but, do my best, I cudna jaloose what it was.

He put on the shop shutters, an' syne screwed aff the gas at the meeter
afore I got the bawbees oot o' the till, an' stack in, ye never saw the
like. He was that anxious to gie me a hand that he hendered me near
half an 'oor.

This gaed on a' Sabbath! He was three times at the kirk, an' he
roostit an' sang till the bit lassies i' the very koir lookit aboot
akinda feard like. But Sandy never jowed his jundie. He put in
anither button o' his coat, an' stack in till the Auld Hunder like the
Jook o' Wellinton at the battle o' Waterloo. The koir sang an anthem
i' the efternune, an' Sandy sang anither at the same time, the rest o'
the fowk harkenin' to the competition. Sandy gaed squawlin' an'
squawkin' up an' doon amon' the quivers, an' through the middle o' what
he ca'd the cruchits, juist like a young pairtrick amon' a pozel o'
hag. Mistress Glendie, that sits at the tap o' oor seat, is a bit o' a
singer, an' she put back her lugs an' skooled like a fountin' mule at
Sandy, oot at the corner o' her specks; but Sandy never lut dab. His
een, when he hadna his nose buried in his book, were awa' i' the roof
o' the kirk, an' Mistress Glendie never got a squawk in ava, eksep when
Sandy was swallowin' his spittal.

Gaen to the kirk at nicht was something to mind aboot. There wasna a
lamp to be seen--an' sic roads! The very laddies frae the Sabbath
Schule were gaen on the paidmint, whaur there were maist gutters, an'
skowf kickin' them at ane anither. The middle o' the road cudna haud
the can'le to the paidmints for glaur lest Sabbath. Sandy an' me gaed
kloiterin' alang the Port, Sandy yatterin' ilky noo-an'-than--"Keep on
the plennies, 'oman." He was keepin' his e'e on his feet that steady,
that, afore I kent whaur I was, he had baith o's wammlin' aboot amon'
the gutters doon the Dens. He'd taen the wrang side o' the dyke at the
fit o' the High Road, an' awa' doon the brae instead o' up! We saw the
muckle lamp up abune the brig juist like a lichthoose twenty mile awa'.
Sandy was widin' aboot amon' the mud, an' his lorn shune liftin' wi' a
noisy gluck, juist like a pump aff the fang.

"I think this is shurely the Sloch o' Dispond we've gotten intil,
Bawbie," says he.

"It looks liker the Wardmill Dam," says I, I says; "but if I get oot
o't livin', I'll lat the pileece hear o't. A gey Lichtin' Commitee we
have, to hae fowk wammlin' aboot i' the mirk li