t than rollickers."

"Not I!" said the baker. "If I had a son, I would rather an ill deil sat
forenenst me at the table than parratch in a poke. Burns (God rest his
banes!) struck the he'rt o't. Ye mind what he said o' Prince Geordie:

'Yet mony a ragged cowte's been known
To mak a noble aiver;
And ye may doucely fill a throne,
For a' their clishmaclaver.
There him at Agincourt wha shone.
Few better were or braver;
And yet wi' funny queer Sir John
He was an unco shaver
For mony a day.'

Dam't, but Burns is gude."

"Huts, man, dinna sweer sae muckle!" frowned the old Provost.

"Ou, there's waur than an oath now and than," said the baker. "Like
spice in a bun it lends a briskness. But it needs the hearty manner
wi't. The Deacon there couldna let blatter wi' a hearty oath to save his
withered sowl. I kenned a trifle o' a fellow that got in among a jovial
gang lang syne that used to sweer tremendous, and he bude to do the same
the bit bodie; so he used to say '_Dim it!_' in a wee, sma voice that
was clean rideec'lous. He was a lauchable dirt, that."

"What was his name?" said Sandy Toddle.

"Your ain," said the baker. (To tell the truth, he was gey fou.)
"Alexander Toddle was his name: '_Dim it!_' he used to squeak, for he
had been a Scotch cuddy in the Midlands, and whiles he used the English.
'_Dim it!_' said he. I like a man that says '_Dahm't._'"

"Ay; but then, you thee, _you_'re an artitht in wordth," said the
Deacon.

"Ye're an artist in spite," said the baker.

"Ah, well," said the ex-Provost, "Burns proved to be wrang in the end
o't, and you'll maybe be the same. George the Fort' didna fill the
throne verra doucely for a' their clishmaclaver, and I don't think young
Gourlay'll fill the pulpit verra doucely for a' ours. For he's saftie
and daftie baith, and that's the deidly combination. At least, that's my
opinion," quoth he, and smacked his lips, the important man.

"Tyuts," said the baker, "folk should be kind to folk. There may be a
possibeelity for the Gourlays in the youngster yet!"

He would have said more, but at that moment his sonsy big wife came out,
with oh, such a roguish and kindly smile, and, "Tom, Tom," said she,
"what are ye havering here for? C'way in, man, and have a dish o' tea
wi' me!"

He glanced up at her with comic shrewdness from where he sat on his
hunkers--for fine he saw through her--and "Ou ay," said he,