to un'erstan' nor a body's ain--for it'll be yet mair his ain."

"Hear til him!" cried the cobbler, with hearty approbation.

"Ye ken," Donal went on, "a' the languages o' the earth cam, or luik as
gien they had come, frae ane, though we're no jist dogsure o' that.
There's my mither's ain Gaelic, for enstance: it's as auld, maybe
aulder nor the Greek; onygait, it has mair Greek nor Laitin words intil
't, an' ye ken the Greek 's an aulder tongue nor the Laitin. Weel,
gien we could work oor w'y back to the auldest grit-gran'mither-tongue
o' a', I'm thinkin' it wad come a kin o' sae easy til 's, 'at, wi' the
impruvt faculties o' oor h'avenly condition, we micht be able in a feow
days to haud communication wi' ane anither i' that same, ohn stammert
or hummt an' hawt."

"But there's been sic a heap o' things f'un' oot sin' syne, i' the min'
o' man, as weel 's i' the warl' ootside," said Andrew, "that sic a
language wad be mair like a bairn's tongue nor a mither's, I'm
thinkin', whan set against a' 'at wad be to speyk aboot!"

"Ye're verra richt there, I dinna doobt. But hoo easy wad it be for
ilk ane to bring in the new word he wantit, haein' eneuch common afore
to explain 't wi'! Afore lang the language wad hae intil 't ilka word
'at was worth haein' in ony language 'at ever was spoken sin' the toor
o' Babel."

"Eh, sirs, but it's dreidfu' to think o' haein' to learn sae muckle!"
said the old woman. "I'm ower auld an' dottlet!"

Her husband laughed again.

"I dinna see what ye hae to lauch at!" she said, laughing too. "Ye'll
be dottlet yersel' gien ye live lang eneuch!"

"I'm thinkin'," said Andrew, "but I dinna ken--'at it maun be a man's
ain wyte gien age maks him dottlet. Gien he's aye been haudin' by the
trowth, I dinna think he'll fin' the trowth, hasna hauden by him.--But
what I was lauchin' at was the thoucht o' onybody bein' auld up there.
We'll a' be yoong there, lass!"

"It sall be as the Lord wulls," returned his wife.

"It sall. We want nae mair; an' eh, we want nae less!" responded her
husband.

So the evening wore away. The talk was to the very mind of Donal, who
never loved wisdom so much as when she appeared in peasant-garb. In
that garb he had first known her, and in the form of his mother.

"I won'er," said Doory at length, "'at yoong Eppy 's no puttin' in her
appearance! I was sure o' her the nicht: she hasna been near 's a' the
week!"

The cobbler turned to Donal to explain. He w