s.

[Picture: Country lassies bleaching their snow-white linen]

"The mother and the daughter were kept in custody until the Monday; when,
as they were standing making a declaration of their innocence before the
justices, who should come in but Francie Deep, the Sheriff-officer, with
an Irish vagrant and his wife--two tinklers who were lodging in the
Back-row, and in whose possession the bundle was found bodily, basket and
all. Such a cheering as the folk set up! it did all honest folk's hearts
good to hear it. Mrs Pernickity and her lass, to save their bacon, were
obliged to be let out by a back door; and, as the justices were about to
discharge the two prisoners, who had been so unjustly and injuriously
suspected, a stranger forced his way to the middle of the floor, and took
the old woman in his arms!"

"Charlie Cheeper returned, for a gold guinea," said I.

"And no other it was," said Peter, resuming his comical story. "The
world had flowed upon him to his heart's desire. Over in Virginia he had
given up the baking business, and commenced planter; and, after years of
industrious exertion, having made enough and to spare, he had returned to
spend the rest of his days in peace and plenty, in his native town."

"Not to interrupt you," added I, "Mr Farrel, I think I could wager
something mair."

"You are a witch of a guesser I know, Mansie," said Peter; "and I see
what you are at. Well, sir, you are right again. For, on the very day
week that Patrick Makillaguddy and his spouce got their heads shaved, and
were sent to beat hemp in the New Bridgewell on the Caltonhill, Jeanie
Amos became Mrs Cheeper; the calender and the spinning-wheel were both
burned by a crowd of wicked weans before old Mrs Pernickity's door,
raising such a smoke as almost smeaked her to a rizzar'd haddock; and the
old widow under the snug roof of her ever grateful son-in-law, spent the
remainder of her Christian life in peace and prosperity."

"That story ends as it ought," said I, "Mr Farrel; neither Jew nor Gentle
dare dispute that; and as to the telling of it, I do not think man of
woman born, except maybe James Batter, who is a nonsuch, could have
handled it more prettily. I like to hear virtue aye getting its ain
reward."

As these dividual words were falling from my lips, we approached the end
of our journey, the Roslin Inn house heaving in sight, at the door of
which me and Peter louped out, an hostler with a yellow strip