in' himsel'. To mak' a lang
story short--Bandy Wobster gae me the particulars--the race cam' aff
the nicht. Sandy strippit juist doon at the second slippie on the
Sands yonder. He keepit naething on but his inside sark, an' his
drawers, an' a pair o' slippers, an' aff he set to rin ootby to the
targets an' back. He wasna fower meenits awa' when the lot o' the
dirty deevils--that I shud ca' them sic a name--gaithered up Sandy's
claes an' cam' their wa's in the road, leavin' Sandy to get hame the
best wey he cud. Bandy Wobster gae the claes to Nathan at the tap o'
the street, an' tell'd him he fand them on the Sands."

"But whaur'll Sandy be?" says I.

"That's mair than I can tell, Bawbie; but I'll rin doon for the
mistress, an' she'll look efter the shop till we gae oot the Sands an'
see if we can fa' in wi' him," said Dauvid.

Dauvid gaed awa' for Mistress Kenawee, an' I ran up the stair to the
garret to throw on my bonnet, takin' Sandy's claes wi' me. Preserve's
a', when I lookit into the garret, here's the skylicht open, an' twa
lang, skranky legs, wi' a pair o' buggers at the end o' them, wammlin'
aboot like twa rattlesnakes tryin' to get to the fluir. I drappit the
claes, oot at the door, an' steekit it ahent me. I keekit in aneth the
door, juist to see what wud happen. Sandy landit cloit doon on the
flure, an' sat sweitin', an' pechin', an' ac'ually greetin'. What a
picture he presentit! I cudna tell ye a' what he said. There were a
lot o' wirds amon't that's no' i' the dictionar'; an' I can tell ye, if
Pottie Lawson an' Bandy Wobster get the half o' what Sandy promised
them, baith in this world an' the next, they'll no hae far to find for
a sair place.

"Man, gin ye'd haen the brains o' a cock spug," I heard him sayin' till
himsel', "ye michta jaloosed they were to play ye some prank. You
muckle, dozent gozlin'," he says; an' he took himsel' a skelp i' the
side o' the heid wi' his open luif that near ca'd him on his back. In
his stagger his feet tickled amon' his claes, an' he gaithered them up,
an' lookit fair dumfoondered like. He put them a' on; an' gyne--what
think you? Puir Sandy ac'ually sat doon an' claspit his hands, an' I
heard him sayin', "I'm an awfu' eedeit, a pure provoke to a' 'at
belangs me! but if I'm forgi'en this time, I'll try an' do better frae
this day forrit. An' I'll gie Pottie Lawson a killin' that he'll no'
forget in a hurry. He'll better waurro, if I get a haud o' hi