the
dead body of her son at her feet; and, at the side of it, his kist with
his claes, on the top of which was tied--not being room for it in the
inside like (for he had twelve shirts, and three pair of trowsers, and a
Sunday and every day's coat, with stockings and other things)--his old
white beaver hat, turned up behind, which he used to wear when he was
with me. His Sunday's hat I did not see; but most likely it was in among
his claes, to keep it from the rain, and preserved, no doubt, for the use
of some of his little brothers, please God, when they grew up a wee
bigger.

Seeing Maister Glen, who had cut his chin in shaving, in a worn-out
disjasket state, mounted on his sheltie, I shook hands with them both;
and, in my thoughtlessness, wished them "a good journey,"--knowing well
what a sorrowful home-going it would be to them, and what their bairns
would think when they saw what was lying in the cart beside their mother.
On this the big ploughman, that wore a broad blue bonnet and corduroys
cutikins, with a grey big-coat slit up behind in the manner I commonly
made for laddies, gave his long whip a crack, and drove off to the
eastward.

It would be needless in me to waste precious time in relating how I
returned to my own country, especially as I may be thankful that nothing
particular happened, excepting the coach-wheels riding over an old dog
that was lying sleeping on the middle of the road, and, poor brute,
nearly got one of his fore-paws chacked off. The day was sharp and
frosty and all the passengers took a loup off at a yill-house, with a
Highlandman on the sign of it, to get a dram, to gar them bear up against
the cold; yet knowing what had but so lately happened, and having the
fears of Maister Wiggie before my eyes, I had made a solemn vow within
myself, not to taste liquor for six months at least; nor would I here
break my word, tho' much made a fool of by an Englisher, and a fou
Eirisher, who sang all the road; contenting myself, in the best way I
could, with a tumbler of strong beer and two butter-bakes.

It is an old proverb, and a true one, that there is no rest to the
wicked; so when I got home, I found business crying out for me loudly,
having been twice wanted to take the measure for suits of clothes. Of
course, knowing that my two customers would be wearying, I immediately
cut my stick to their houses, and promised without fail to have my work
done against the next Sabbath. Whether from my