d have told you. As each
horse passed the gate the driver left its head, and took his place by
the wheel, cracking his whip, with many a "Hup, horse; yean, horse; woa,
lad; steady!"

In a dull little country town the passing of a single cart is an event,
and a gig is followed with the eye till it disappears. Anything is
welcome that breaks the long monotony of the hours and suggests a topic
for the evening's talk. "Any news?" a body will gravely inquire. "Ou
ay," another will answer with equal gravity: "I saw Kennedy's gig going
past in the forenoon." "Ay, man; where would _he_ be off till? He's owre
often in his gig, I'm thinking." And then Kennedy and his affairs will
last them till bedtime.

Thus the appearance of Gourlay's carts woke Barbie from its morning
lethargy. The smith came out in his leather apron, shoving back, as he
gazed, the grimy cap from his white-sweating brow; bowed old men stood
in front of their doorways, leaning with one hand on short, trembling
staffs, while the slaver slid unheeded along the cutties which the left
hand held to their toothless mouths; white-mutched grannies were keeking
past the jambs; an early urchin, standing wide-legged to stare, waved
his cap and shouted, "Hooray!"--and all because John Gourlay's carts
were setting off upon their morning rounds, a brave procession for a
single town! Gourlay, standing great-shouldered in the middle of the
road, took in every detail, devoured it grimly as a homage to his pride.
"Ha, ha, ye dogs!" said the soul within him. Past the pillar of the Red
Lion door he could see a white peep of the landlord's waistcoat--though
the rest of the mountainous man was hidden deep within his porch. (On
summer mornings the vast totality of the landlord was always inferential
to the town from the tiny white peep of him revealed.) Even fat Simpson
had waddled to the door to see the carts going past. It was fat
Simpson--might the Universe blast his adipose--who had once tried to
infringe Gourlay's monopoly as the sole carrier in Barbie. There had
been a rush to him at first, but Gourlay set his teeth and drove him off
the road, carrying stuff for nothing till Simpson had nothing to carry,
so that the local wit suggested "a wee parcel in a big cart" as a new
sign for his hotel. The twelve browns prancing past would be a pill to
Simpson! There was no smile about Gourlay's mouth--a fiercer glower was
the only sign of his pride--but it put a bloom on his morning, h