house, I rejoice to see, John, and you are likely to be. What!
the laird has given it to you for your life, and ten pound a year? And
the minister gives you free firing, and with the bit you've laid by
you'll juik the puirhoose yet? Why, man, that's good hearing! You are a
rich man in these bad times! Na, na, John, us Halmyre lads wad never
see you gang there, had your 'rung' been twice as heavy.

"Do ye mind o' that day ye telled the maister on us? There was Joe
Craig, that was lost somewhere in the China seas; Sandy Young, that's
something in Glasgow; Tam Simpson, that died in the horrors o' drink;
and me--and ye got us a' a big licking. It was a frosty morning, and ye
waylaid the maister on his way to the school, and the tawse were nippier
than ordinar' that mornin'. No, John, it wasna me that was the
ringleader. It was Joe Craig, for ye had clooted his lugs the night
before for knockin' on your window wi' a pane o' glass, and then letting
it jingle in a thousand pieces on the causeway. Ye chased him doon the
street and through the lang vennel, and got him in Payne's field. Ye
brocht him back by the cuff o' the neck, an' got a polisman to come to
see the damage. An' when ye got to the window there wasna a hole in't,
nor a bit o' gless to be seen, for Sandy Young had sooped it a' up when
ye were awa' after Joe Craig.

"Then the polisman said, 'If I war you, John, I wadna gang sae muckle to
the Cross Keys--yer heid's no as strong as it was, an' the minister's
sure to hear o't!' This was mair than mortal could stan', so ye telled
the polisman yer opinion o' him and his forebears, and attended to Joe
Craig's lugs, baith at the same time.

"Ye dinna mind, do ye, John, what we did that nicht? No? Weel, then, we
fetched ye the water that ye were aye compleenin' that ye had naebody to
carry for ye. Twa cans fu' we carried--an' we proppit them baith against
your door wi' a bit brick ahint them. Ay, just that very door there.
Then we gied a great 'rammer' on the panels, an' ye cam' geyan fast to
catch us. But as ye opened the door, baith the cans fell into the hoose,
an' ye could hae catched bairdies an' young puddocks on the
hearthstane. Weel, ye got me in the coachbuilder's entry, an' I've no'
forgotten the bit circumstance, gin ye have.

"Ill-wull? Na, John, the verra best of guid-wull, for ye made better
boys o' us for the verra fear o' yer stick. As ye say, the ministers are
no' what they used to be when you and me we