na had a new pair sin' ever I
mind.'

'But I wad haud Betty in shune as weel.'

'Betty pays for her ain shune, I reckon.'

'Weel, I wad haud you in shune, and yer bairns, and yer bairns' bairns,'
cried the soutar, with enthusiasm.

'Hoot, toot, man! Lang or that ye'll be fiddlin' i' the new Jeroozlem.'

'Eh, man!' said Alexander, looking up--he had just cracked the
roset-ends off his hands, for he had the upper leather of a boot in the
grasp of the clams, and his right hand hung arrested on its blind way to
the awl--'duv ye think there'll be fiddles there? I thocht they war a'
hairps, a thing 'at I never saw, but it canna be up till a fiddle.'

'I dinna ken,' answered Robert; 'but ye suld mak a pint o' seein' for
yersel'.'

'Gin I thoucht there wad be fiddles there, faith I wad hae a try. It
wadna be muckle o' a Jeroozlem to me wantin' my fiddle. But gin there
be fiddles, I daursay they'll be gran' anes. I daursay they wad gi' me a
new ane--I mean ane as auld as Noah's 'at he played i' the ark whan the
de'il cam' in by to hearken. I wad fain hae a try. Ye ken a' aboot it
wi' that grannie o' yours: hoo's a body to begin?'

'By giein' up the drink, man.'

'Ay--ay--ay--I reckon ye're richt. Weel, I'll think aboot it whan ance
I'm throu wi' this job. That'll be neist ook, or thereabouts, or aiblins
twa days efter. I'll hae some leiser than.'

Before he had finished speaking he had caught up his awl and begun
to work vigorously, boring his holes as if the nerves of feeling were
continued to the point of the tool, inserting the bristles that served
him for needles with a delicacy worthy of soft-skinned fingers, drawing
through the rosined threads with a whisk, and untwining them with a
crack from the leather that guarded his hands.

'Gude nicht to ye,' said Robert, with the fiddle-case under his arm.

The shoemaker looked up, with his hands bound in his threads.

'Ye're no gaein' to tak her frae me the nicht?'

'Ay am I, but I'll fess her back again. I'm no gaein' to Jericho wi'
her.'

'Gang to Hecklebirnie wi' her, and that's three mile ayont hell.'

'Na; we maun win farther nor that. There canna, be muckle fiddlin'
there.'

'Weel, tak her to the new Jeroozlem. I s' gang doon to Lucky Leary's,
and fill mysel' roarin' fou, an' it'll be a' your wyte (blame).'

'I doobt ye'll get the straiks (blows) though. Or maybe ye think Bell
'ill tak them for ye.'

Dooble Sanny caught up a huge boot, the sole of whi