at he was a Scotsman born.

"Yon whelp I skelpit the day was naething but an Irishman," he cried
loftily. "I canna get Robbie Burns' graun' words oot o' my heid: 'The
Scotsmen staun' an' Irish fa'--let him on wi' me,'" and on this wave of
martial spirit Geordie took another plunge at right angles from our
previous course, bearing me after him like a skiff tied to a schooner
amid stormy seas.

After we had put about and regained our bearings, I nimbly took
advantage of this patriotic opening, having ever a quick mind for the
transition of ideas.

"Yes, Geordie, many good things are Scotch, and many Scotch things are
good. Some misguided persons think even that Scotch liquor is good. Now,
George----" But I got no further. This time Geordie swung around before
me, like a boat that trusts its moorings--

"Ye're richt, minister; wha wad hae thocht ye kent the difference? But
ye're richt--a' whusky is guid, but some's mair guid nor ithers, an'
Scotch is mair guid nor ony ithers. Those feckless Irish fowk aye tak'
the speerits o' oor native land gin they hae the siller, which isna
likely. An' I dinna blame them muckle."

I now saw that there was no opening along this line, favourable at first
sight as it had appeared. The attack must be plain and straight.

"Geordie," I began, "this is a pitiable situation for a minister to be
in, and you know, George----"

"That's a' richt, minister--dinna fash yersel'. I'll no' mention it to a
soul. Mony's the time I hae been fou masel', 'peetiably seetivated,' as
ye ca' it, bein' mair learned nor me; to be honest wi' ye, I'm juist a
wee bit 'peetiably seetivated' this vera nicht. But I'll tak' ye hame
for a' that, an nane'll hear tell o't frae Geordie Lorimer."

Then he plunged again, propelled by the sense of a new responsibility,
and for a minute we two performed, unaided and alone, the several
different parts of an eight-hand reel.

Nevertheless, I relinquished not my hold, for I was truly attached to
the fellow, and in due time we made a mile, though I know the cyclometer
would have recorded ten. More hopeful, I was steaming on, a clerical
tugboat, when of a sudden Geordie stopped, pointing with his right leg
high in air, trusting me and his left to perform the relief duty thus
demanded.

"Yon's ma coo, ma Ayrshire coo," he exclaimed, pointing with his initial
leg to the white-faced cow which lay among its kindred, its jaw gently
swinging.

"The beast disna ken," I heard h