by many who, while they considered him outside
of the kingdom, would have troubled themselves in no way about him. What
with visits of condolence and flattery, inquiries into his experience,
and long prayers by his bedside, they now did their best to send him
back among the swine. The soutar's humour, however, aided by his violin,
was a strong antidote against these evil influences.

'I doobt I'm gaein' to dee, Robert,' he said at length one evening as
the lad sat by his bedside.

'Weel, that winna do ye nae ill,' answered Robert, adding with just a
touch of bitterness--'ye needna care aboot that.'

'I do not care aboot the deein' o' 't. But I jist want to live lang
eneuch to lat the Lord ken 'at I'm in doonricht earnest aboot it. I hae
nae chance o' drinkin' as lang's I'm lyin' here.'

'Never ye fash yer heid aboot that. Ye can lippen (trust) that to him,
for it's his ain business. He'll see 'at ye're a' richt. Dinna ye think
'at he'll lat ye aff.'

'The Lord forbid,' responded the soutar earnestly. 'It maun be a' pitten
richt. It wad be dreidfu' to be latten aff. I wadna hae him content wi'
cobbler's wark.--I hae 't,' he resumed, after a few minutes' pause; 'the
Lord's easy pleased, but ill to saitisfee. I'm sair pleased wi' your
playin', Robert, but it's naething like the richt thing yet. It does me
gude to hear ye, though, for a' that.'

The very next night he found him evidently sinking fast. Robert took the
violin, and was about to play, but the soutar stretched out his one left
hand, and took it from him, laid it across his chest and his arm over
it, for a few moments, as if he were bidding it farewell, then held it
out to Robert, saying,

'Hae, Robert. She's yours.--Death's a sair divorce.--Maybe they 'll hae
an orra [3] fiddle whaur I'm gaein', though. Think o' a Rothieden soutar
playin' afore his grace!'

Robert saw that his mind was wandering, and mingled the paltry honours
of earth with the grand simplicities of heaven. He began to play
The Land o' the Leal. For a little while Sandy seemed to follow and
comprehend the tones, but by slow degrees the light departed from his
face. At length his jaw fell, and with a sigh, the body parted from
Dooble Sanny, and he went to God.

His wife closed mouth and eyes without a word, laid the two arms,
equally powerless now, straight by his sides, then seating herself on
the edge of the bed, said,

'Dinna bide, Robert. It's a' ower noo. He's gang hame. Gin I wa