ou've a' enjoyed it."

Dauvid proposed a vote o' thanks to Sandy; an' you wudda thocht a' the
steam-engines atween this an' Glesca had gotten into oor washin'-hoose,
wi' their whistles on full-cock. The noise was something terriple. I
had to pet my fingers in my lugs, an' rin.

VIII.

SANDY AND THE RHUBARB TART.

Was ever a woman so provokit wi' a ramstam, dotrifeed gomeral o' a man?
Sandy Bowden 'ill hae me i' my grave yet afore my time, as share's I'm
a livin' woman. There's no' a closed e'e for me this nicht; an'
there's Sandy awa' till his bed wi' his airms rowed up in bits o' an
auld yellow-cotton apron o' Mistress Mikaver's mither's. Eh, sirce me;
an' me was so happy no' mony 'oors syne!

We gaed awa' to hae a cup o' tea wi' Mistress Mikaver--that's the
scone-baker's widow, ye ken. Her auldest laddie's been awa' oot amon'
the Reed Indians, or some o' thae ither lang-haired, naked fowk 'at
never wash themsel's; an' they say he's made a heap o' bawbees. He's a
snod bit stockie--a little beld, an' bowd-leggit, an' wants a thoom.
But, I'll swag, the young kimmers that were at the pairty didna see
muckle wrang wi' him. There was as keen competition for him amon' the
lassies as gin he'd been a gude-gaen public-hoose puttin' up for
unction.

Me an' Sandy landed amon' the first o' the fowk. A'thing was richt
snod, I assure ye. Mistress Mikaver had the stair noo whitened, an'
every stap was kaumed an' sandit, ye never saw the like. An' there she
was hersel' wi' her best black goon on, no' a smad to be seen on't, an'
her lace kep an' beady apron. She was a dandy, an' nae mistak'.

Afore Sandy got up the stair he manished to mairter the feck o' his
Sabbath claes wi' the whitenin'; an' I was akinda feard Mistress
Mikaver micht mistak' him for the scone-baker's ghost. But we got him
made gey snod, an' syne we gaed inby to the ben-hoose fireside, an' had
a crack wi' young Aleck. That's the son's name. Sandy an' him got
started aboot mustaings, an' Indeens, an' boomirangs, an' scoots an'
ither scoondrils, till I cudna be deaved ony langer wi' their forrin
blethers; so ben to but-the-hoose I gaed to hae a twa-handit crack wi'
Aleck's mither.

When I opened the door, here's as mony lassies as wudda startit a noo
mill. They'd been a' deckin' themsel's but-the-hoose afore they cam'
ben to see Aleck, d'ye see? He made himsel' rale frank, an' speer'd
for a' their mithers, an' a'thing; an' then we got ro