t a wird cud Sandy get oot. He was stanin' pechin' like a
podlie oot o' the watter, an' starin' roond him like a huntit dog.

"Fiddlers' dogs and fleshers' flees come to feasts unbidden," said
Mysie; but Sandy gae her a glower that garred her steek her moo gey
quick.

"What i' the earth's wrang, Sandy," I says, gien him a shak'.

"Wh-wh-whaur's the g-grund ceenimin, Bawbie?" says Sandy. "There's a
tinkler wife needin' a bawbee's-wirth, an' I've socht the shop heich
an' laich for't."

"Keep me, Sandy," says I, "is that what's brocht you here? You'll get
it in a mustard tin in the pepper drawer. But wha's i' the shop?"

"Oo, juist the tinkler wife," says Sandy.

"Weel, did you ever?" said Mistress Kenawee, haudin' up her hands.

"No!" said Sandy, turnin' to her gey ill-natured like. "Did you?"

"That's a type o' what ye ca' your men," says Mysie. "Weel, weel;
they're scarce o' cloots that mend their hose wi' dockens."

"Bliss my hert, Sandy, she'll be awa' wi' the till atore ye get back,"
I said. "Rin awa' yont as fest as your feet'll cairry ye."

"The fient a fear o' that," Sandy strak in. "I gae the pileeceman
tippence to stand at the door till I cam' back. I'm no' juist so
daft's a' that, yet."

"An' the tinkler wife wants a bawbee's wirth o' grund ceenimin?" said
the Gairner's wife. "That fair cows the cadger."

"I'll rin than," said Sandy. "I'll fa' in wi't a' richt noo; ye needna
hurry, Bawbie," he added, as he made his wey oot; an' syne wi' the door
in's hand, he says, "The pileeceman's in a hurry too, ye see. He has
to hurl hame Gairner Winton. He's lyin' alang in Famie Tabert's
public-hoose terriple foo"; an' awa' he floo, takin' the door to ahent
him wi' a blatter like thunder.

If you had seen Mistress Winton's face! It was a picture. She shogit
her heid frae side to side, wi' her moo shut, as if she wud never
open't again; but efter a whilie she spat oot twa-three wirds, juist
like's they'd been burnin' the tongue o' her. "A dog's tongue's nae
scandal," she yattered oot.

"Better the end o' a feast than the beginnin' o' a pley," said Mysie.
"We mauna lat onybody get cankered. Come awa' and sit doon, Mistress
Winton. Bawbie's man juist wantit a dab at ye. Dinna mistak' yersel';
the Gairner's as sober's a judge, I'se warrant."

But the crackin' wudna tak' the road somewey efter this. There was a
fell feck o' hostin', an' ow-ayin', an' so on; so I cam' my wa's hame
afore auch