ke this on their wey to
the kirk! There's ower muckle keepin' fowk i' the dark a' roond," says
I, I says; "an' there maun be an end till't. It's a perfeck scandal."

Juist at this meenit Sandy got grips o' the railin' o' the stair, an'
him an' me got ane anither trailed up some wey or ither. Gin I got on
the paidmint, I was slippin' here an' there like some lassie on the
skeetchin' pond, till doon I skaikit, skloit on the braid o' my back,
an' left my life-size engravin' i' the middle o' the road. Eh, it was
a gude thing I didna hae on my best frock! I shiftit at tea-time, for
thae gutters mak' sic a dreedfu' mairter o' a body.

"It's a black, burnin' shame," says Sandy, as he gaithered me up; "an'
I howp some o' thae Lichtin' Commitee chappies 'ill get a dook amon'
the gutters the nicht for this pliskie o' theirs. It's a fine nicht
fort. Fowk peyin' nae end o' rates, an' a' the streets as dark as a
cell--a sell it is, an' nae mistak'. Feech! I tell ye, what it is an'
what it's no', Bawbie----"

"Wheesht, Sandy," says I. "Keep me, if ye go on rantin' like that, the
fowk 'ill think ye've startit the street preachin'. Haud your lang
tongue. I'm no' michty muckle the waur."

Sandy took oot his tnife an' gae me a bit skrape; an' we landit at the
kirk an' got a rale gude sermon aboot the birkie 'at belanged to
Simaria an' fell on his road hame, an' so on. I wasna muckle the waur
o't efter a'--o' the fa', I mean, of coorse, no' the sermon--an', when
we got hame, I got aff my goon; an' tho' Sandy gae the Lichtin'
Commitee an' the gutter-raikers a gey haf-'oor's throo the mill, I
didna think muckle mair aboot it.

But, as I was sayin', this was a' leadin' up to something. Sandy cudna
sit still at nicht, an' he sang an' smokit till, atween bein' deaved
an' scumfished, I was nearhand seek. Efter readin' oor chapter, I gaed
awa' to my bed. I lookit up twa-three times an' saw Sandy sittin'
afore the fire, twirlin' his thooms, an' gien a bit whistle noo an'
than. Efter a while he put oot the gas, an' syne began to tak' aff his
claes, an' wide aboot amon' the furniture as uswal. He got intil his
bed efter a quarter o' an oor's miscellaneous scramblin', an' was sune
snorin' like a dragoon.

When I got atower i' the mornin', what is there sittin' on my chair but
a great muckle shortie in a braw box, wi' a Christmas caird on the tap
o't. When I opened the box here's ane o' my stockin's lyin' on the tap
o' a gre