, the lassie fairly astonished me.

When the votes o' thanks were gien oot, Sandy riffed an' rattled oot o'
a' measure. I thocht ance or twice he wud be up to the pletform to say
a wird or twa himsel', he was that excited. Syne when "Auld Lang Syne"
was mentioned, he sprang till his feet, evened his gravat, pulled doon
his weyscot, put a' the buttons intil his coat, an' swallowed a
spittal. An' hoo he tootit an' sang! I thocht the precentor that was
beatin' time lookit across at him twa-three times, he was roostin' an'
roarin' at sic a rate. He sang at the pitch o' his voice--

Shud auld acquantance be forgot,
An' never brocht to mind,

an' syne gien me a great daud on the shuder wi' his elba, he says,
"Sing quicker, Bawbie"--

For the days o' auld langsyne.

There was a fisher ahent's that strak' in wi' the chorus an' made an'
awfu' gutter o't. He yalpit awa' a' on ae note, juist like's he was
roarin' to somebody to lowse the penter; an' though Sandy keepit gaen,
he was in a richt raise.

"That roarin' nowt's juist makin' a pure soss o't," he says, when we
finished. "Ye wud easy ken he had learned his singin' at the sea"; an'
he glowered roond at him gey ill-natir'd like, an' says, "Haud your
tung, ye roarin' cuif." Syne he grippit the fisher's hand wi' ane o'
his, an' mine wi' the ither, an' startit--

An' here's a hand, my trusty fraend, eksettera.

The fisher lookit gey dumfoondered like, an' never lut anither peek;
but Sandy stack in like a larry-horse till the feenish, an' he cam'
hame a' the road sayin', "Man, that's raley been a treat!"

It was that, an' nae mistak', an' as the chairman said, it'll be a
memorable concert to mony a ane.

XVIII.

SANDY RUNS A RACE.

Weel, I'll tell ye what it is, an' what it's no'--I thocht the ither
nicht that Sandy had gotten to the far end o' his ongaens. If ever a
woman thocht she was genna hae to don her weeda's weeds, it was me. I
never expeckit to see Sandy again, till he was brocht in on the police
streetchin' buird. But I'll better begin my story at the beginnin'.
What needs I care whuther fowk kens a' aboot it, or no'? I've been
black affrontit that often, I dinna care a doaken noo what happens.
I've dune my best to be a faithfu' wife; an' I'm shure I've trauchled
awa' an' putten up wi' a man that ony ither woman wudda pushon'd twenty
'ear syne! But that's nether here nor there.

Weel, to get to my story. Aboot a week syne I