rattlin' stoppit at the shop door, an' I heard
Sandy's voice roarin', "Way-wo, haud still, wo man, wo-o-o, will ye!"

"What i' the face o' the earth's ado noo?" says I to mysel'; an' I goes
my wa's to the door. Sandy had been up at Munromont for a load o'
tatties. When I gaed to the door, here he was wi' a thing atween the
shafts o' his cairt that lookit like's it had been struck wi' forkit
lichtnin'.

"What hae ye dune wi' Donal', Sandy?" I speered.

"Cadger Gowans an' me's haen a swap," says Sandy, climbin' oot at the
back o' the cairt, an' jookin' awa' roond canny-weys to the horse's
heid.

"Wo, Princie," he says, pettin' oot his hand. "Wo, the bonnie laddie!"

Princie, as he ca'd him, ga'e a gley roond wi' the white o' his e'e
that garred Sandy keep a gude yaird clear o' him.

"He's a grand beast," he says, comin' roond to my side; "a grand beast!
Three-quarters bred, an' soond in wind and lim'. I got a terriple
bargain o' him. I ga'e Gowans Donal' an' thirty shillin's, an' he ga'e
me a he tortyshall kitlin' to the bute--the only ane i' the
countryside. He's genna hand it in the morn."

There was nae want o' soond in Princie's wind at ony rate. I saw that
in a minute. He was whistlin' like a lerik.

"He sooks wind a little when he has a lang rin," says Sandy; "but
that's nether here nor there. He's haen a teenge or twa, an' he's
akinda foondered afore, an' a little spavie i' the aft hent leg; but
I'll shune pet that a' richt wi' gude guidin'. He's a grand beast, I
tell ye!"

Sandy stood an' lookit first up at the horse an' then doon at his
cairt. "He's gey high for the wheels," he says; "but, man, he's a
grand beast. He cam hame frae Glesterlaw juist like a bird. Never
turned a hair. He's a grand beast."

"Hoo mony legs has he, Sandy?" says I, lookin' at the great, big,
ravelled-lookin' brute. He was a' twisted here and there, an' the legs
o' him lookit for a' the world juiat like bits o' crunckled water-hose.
The cairt appeared to be haudin' him up, raither than him haudin' up
the cairt; an' he was restin' the thrawn legs o' him time aboot, juist
like a cock stanin' amon' snaw. "Ye shudda left that billie at the
knackers at Glesterlaw, Sandy," says I, I says. "I'm dootin' ye'll
ha'e back to tak' him there afore him or you's muckle aulder."

"Tyach! Haud your lang tongue," says Sandy. "Speak aboot things ye
ken something aboot. Wait till the morn. Ye'll see I'll get roond my
roond