I cud never
pet aff my time gaen aboot doin' naething an' that's whaur I differ
frae the minister."

"But I think we're tell'd that there'll be mony mansions," says I; "an'
nae doubt there'll be mony kinds o' occupation too. There'll be a
chance for's a' bein' happy in oor ain wey, I'm thinkin'. I only wiss
we was sure we wud a' get there."

"Ah, Bawbie, lassie, that's whaur you're wyzer than the whole dollop
o's," says the Smith. "We're takin' up oor heids aboot a place we may
never get till; an', I'm thinkin', it'll be better for's a' to stick in
here an' do what's fair an' richt. If we mak' shure o' that, we may
lave a' the rest till a higher hand."

Mistress Kenawee landit in to see what had come ower Dauvid, an', dear
me, when I lookit at the tnock, here, it was five meenits to ten. We'd
been argeyin' that muckle aboot eternity, that we'd forgotten aboot the
time a'thegither.

V.

MISTRESS MIKAVER'S TEA PARTY.

I'll swag, mind ye, but the men's no' far wrang when they say that
weemin have most dreedfu' lang tongues. Dod, mind ye, but it's ower
troo; it's ower troo!

Mistress Mikaver wud hae me alang to a cup o' tea lest Teysday
efternune; so I gae my hands an' face a bit dicht, an' threw on my
Sabbath goon, an' awa' I gaed. I fell in wi' Mistress Kenawee on the
road, an', gin we landit, there was a gaitherin' o' wives like what you
wudda seen ony mornin' at the Mossy Wall afore the noo water supply was
brocht in aboot the toon.

Mysie Meldrum was there wi' a braw noo print frock on. Hand your
tongue! Five bawbees the yaird! I saw the very marrows o't in Hantin
the draper's remmindar winda. But, faigs, Mysie was prood o't, an' nae
mistak. It was made i' the first o' fashion, a' drawn i' the briest,
an' shuders as big's smokit hams, wi' Mysie's bit facie lookin' oot
atween them, like's she was sittin' in an auld-fashioned easychair.
But, of coorse, I never bather my heid aboot what wey fowk's dressed.

Mistress Mollison was juist as assorted as uswal. She'd as muckle on
as wudda dressed twa or three folk, an' she was ill-cled at that.

"What'll hae come o' her seal jeckit?" says Mistress Kenawee to me, wi'
a nudge, when we gaed ben the hoose to get oor things aff; but I said
naething, for, the fac' o' the maitter is, I thocht Mistress Kenawee a
fell sicht hersel'. There was a great target o' black braid hingin'
frae the tail o' her goon, an' the back seam o' her body was riven in
twa