ve. I could weel fancy an
angel a shepherd--an' he wad coont my father guid company! Troth, he
wad want wings an' airms an' feet an' a' to luik efter the lambs
whiles! But gien sic a ane was a clerk in a coontin' hoose, he wad hae
to stow awa the wings; I cannot see what use he wad hae for them there.
He micht be an angel a' the time, an' that no a fallen ane, but he bude
to lay aside something to fit the place."

"But ye're no a shepherd the noo?" said the cobbler.

"Na," replied Donal, "--'cep' it be I'm set to luik efter anither grade
o' lamb. A freen'--ye may 'a' h'ard his name--sir Gilbert
Galbraith--made the beginnin' o' a scholar o' me, an' noo I hae my
degree frae the auld university o' Inverdaur."

"Didna I think as muckle!" cried mistress Comin triumphant. "I hadna
time to say 't to ye, Anerew, but I was sure he was frae the college,
an' that was hoo his feet war sae muckle waur furnisht nor his heid."

"I hae a pair o' shune i' my kist, though--whan that comes!" said
Donal, laughing.

"I only houp it winna be ower muckle to win up oor stair!"

"I dinna think it. But we'll lea' 't i' the street afore it s' come
'atween 's!" said Donal. "Gien ye'll hae me, sae lang's I'm i' the
toon, I s' gang nae ither gait."

"An' ye'll doobtless read the Greek like yer mither-tongue?" said the
cobbler, with a longing admiration in his tone.

"Na, no like that; but weel eneuch to get guid o' 't."

"Weel, that's jist the ae thing I grutch ye--na, no grutch--I'm glaid
ye hae't--but the ae thing I wud fain be a scholar for mysel'! To think
I kenna a cheep o' the word spoken by the Word himsel'!"

"But the letter o' the word he made little o' comparet wi' the
speerit!" said Donal.

"Ay, that's true! an' yet it's whaur a man may weel be greedy an' want
to hae a'thing: wha has the speerit wad fain hae the letter tu! But it
disna maitter; I s' set to learnin' 't the first thing whan I gang up
the stair--that is, gien it be the Lord's wull."

"Hoots!" said his wife, "what wad ye du wi' Greek up there! I s'
warran' the fowk there, ay, an' the maister himsel', speyks plain
Scotch! What for no! What wad they du there wi' Greek, 'at a body wad
hae to warstle wi' frae mornin' to nicht, an' no mak oot the third
pairt o' 't!"

Her husband laughed merrily, but Donal said,

"'Deed maybe ye're na sae far wrang, guidwife! I'm thinkin' there maun
be a gran' mither-tongue there, 'at 'll soop up a' the lave, an' be
better