that muckle to the fore efter the doctor an' a' 's
sattled for."

"It's no to be thought. It's lang sin' ever he wrought a day's darg
(contracted from 'daywerk')."

"Jeames Dow luikit weel after the farmin', though."

"Nae doot. He's a guid servant that, to ony man he ca's master. But
there canna be muckle siller to the fore."

A pause followed.

"What think ye noo, Andrew?" recommenced Bruce. "Ye're weel kent for an
honest an' a langheided man. Do ye think that folk wad expec' onything
o' me gin the warst cam to the warst?"

"Weel, Robert, I dinna think there's muckle guid in luikin' to what
fowk micht or micht not expec' o' ye."

"That's jist what I was thinkin' mysel'; for, ye see, I hae a sma'
family o' my ain to haud chowin' already."

"Nae doot--nae doot. But--"

"Ay, ay; I ken what ye wad say. I maunna a'thegither disregaird what
fowk think, 'cause there's the chop (shop); an' gin I ance got--no to
say an ill name, but jist the wind o' no being sae considerate as I
micht hae been, there's no sayin' but twa or three micht gang by my
door, and across to Jamie Mitchell's yonner."

"Do ye what's richt, Robert Bruce, and sae defy fowk and fairy."

"Na, na, that winna _aye_ work. A body maun tak' care o' their ain,
else wha's to do't?"

"Weel," rejoined Andrew with a smile, for he understood Bruce well
enough, although he pretended to have mistaken his meaning--"weel, gin
the bairnie falls to you, nae doot ye maun take chairge o' her."

"I dinna mean Jeames Anderson's bairns--I mean my ain bairns."

"Robert, whatever way ye decide, I houp it may be sic a deceesion as
will admit o' yer castin' yer care upo' _Him_."

"I ken a' aboot that, Andrew. But my opeenion upo' that text is jist
this--that ilka vessel has to haud the fill o' 't, and what rins ower
may be committed to Him, for ye can haud it no langer. Them that winna
tak tent (care) 'll tak scathe. It's a sweer (lazy) thochtless way to
gang to the Almichty wi' ilka fash. Whan I'm driven to ane mair, that
ane sall aye be Him. Ye min' the story about my namesake and the
spidder?"

"Ay, weel eneuch," answered Andrew.

But he did not proceed to remark that he could see no connection
between that story and the subject in hand, for Bruce's question did
not take him by surprise, it being well understood that he was in the
habit of making all possible and some impossible references to his
great namesake. Indeed, he wished everybody to think, though h