s trouble had not yet affected the region in which Paley
seats the organ of happiness. And while an appetite exists, a dinner
will be interesting. Just as the gloaming was fading into night, they
went back to the library.

"Will I rin ower to the sacrist's for a licht?" asked Alec.

"Na, na; lat be. The mirk's mercifu', whiles."

"I canna unnerstan' ye, Mr Cupples. Sin ever I kent ye i' this library,
I never kent ye bide the oncome o' the nicht. As sune's the gloamin'
began to fa', ye aye flew to yer hat, and oot at the door as gin there
had been a ghaist gettin' its banes thegither oot o' the dark to come
at ye."

"Maybe sae there was, bantam. Sae nane o' your jokin'."

"I didna mean to anger ye, Mr Cupples."

"Whaur naething's meant, naething's dune. I'm nae angert. And that
ye'll sune see. Sit ye doon there, and tak yer plaid aboot ye, or ye'll
be cauld."

"Ye hae nae plaid yersel. Ye're mair like to be cauld nor I am."

"I weir my plaid o' my inside. Ye haena had ony toddy. Deil's broo! It
may weel haud a body warm. It comes frae a het quarter."

The open oak ceiling overhead was getting very dark by this time; and
the room, divided and crowded with books in all directions, left little
free course to the light that struggled through the dusty windows. The
friends seated themselves on the lower steps of an open circular oak
staircase which wound up to a gallery running round the walls.

"Efter I had taen my degree," began Mr Cupples, "frae the han' o' this
same couthy auld mither, I heard o' a grit leebrary i' the north--I
winna say whaur--that wantit the han' o' a man that kenned what he was
aboot, to pit in dacent order, sae that a body cud lay his han's upon a
buik whan he wantit it, and no be i' the condition o' Tantalus, wi'
watter at the mou, but nane for the hause (throat). Dinna imaigin' it
was a public library. Na, na. It belonged to a grit an' gran'
hoose--the Lord hae respec till't, for it's no joke o' a hoose that--as
I weel kent afore a' was ower! Weel, I wrought awa', likin' the wark
weel, for a buik's the bonniest thing i' the warl' but ane, and there's
no dirl (thrill) in't whan ye lay han's upo' 't, as there is, guid
kens, in the ither. Man, ye had better lay han's upon a torpedo, or a
galvanic battery, nor upon a woman--I mean a woman that ye hae ony
attraction till--for she'll gar ye dirl till ye dinna ken yer thoomb
frae yer muckle tae. But I was speikin' aboot buiks an' no aboot women,