her ain, she micht. But ye're a kin' o' a guairdian till
her--arena ye?"

"Ow! ay. I hae made mysel' that in a way; but Bruce wad aye be luikit
upon as the proper guairdian."

"Hae ye ony haud upo' the siller?"

"I gart him sign a lawyer's paper aboot it."

"Weel, ye jist gang and demand the Bible, alang wi' the lave o' Annie's
property. Ye ken she's had trouble aboot her kist (chest), and canna
get it frae the swallowin' cratur'. And gin he maks ony demur, jist
drap a hint o' gaein to the lawyer aboot it. The like o' him's as fleyt
at a lawyer as cats at cauld water. Get the Bible we maun. And ye maun
fess't to me direckly."

Dow was a peaceable man, and did not much relish the commission.
Cupples, thinking he too was a missionar, told him the story.

"Weel," said Dow, "lat him sit there. Maybe they'll haud him frae doin'
mair mischeef. Whan ye jabble a stank, the stink rises."

"I thocht ye was ane o' them. Ye maunna lat it oot."

"Na, na. I a' haud my tongue."

"_I_ care naething aboot it. But there's Thamas Crann jist eatin' his
ain hert. It's a sin to lat sic a man live in sic distress."

"'Deed is't. He's a gude man that. And he's been verra kin' to oor
Annie, Mr Cupples,--I'll do as ye say. Whan do ye want it?"

"This verra nicht."

So after his day's work, which was hard enough at this season of the
year, was over, James Dow put on his blue Sunday coat, and set off to
the town. He found Robert Bruce chaffering with a country girl over
some butter, for which he wanted to give her less than the
market-value. This roused his indignation, and put him in a much fitter
mood for an altercation.

"I winna gie ye mair nor fivepence. Hoo are ye the day, Mr Doo? I tell
ye it has a goo (Fren. gout) o' neeps or something waur."

"Hoo can that be, Mr Bruce, at this sizzon o' the year, whan there's
plenty o' gerss for man an' beast an' a' cratur?" said the girl.

"It's no for me to say hoo it can be. That's no my business. Noo, Mr
Doo?"

Bruce, whose very life lay in driving bargains, had a great dislike to
any interruption of the process. Yet he forsook the girl as if he had
said all he had to say, and turned to James Dow. For he wanted to get
rid of him before concluding his bargain with the girl, whose butter he
was determined to have even if he must pay her own price for it. Like
the Reeve in the Canterbury Tales, who "ever rode the hinderest of the
rout," being such a rogue and such a rogue-catcher tha