ait, 's no the worth o' a
minnin, no to say a whaul, for ilk ane o' thae wee craturs dis the
wull o' him 'at made 'im wi' ilka whisk o' his bit tailie, fa'in' in
wi' a' the jabble o' the jaws again' the rocks, for it's a' ae
thing--an' a' to haud the muckle sea clean. An' sae whan I lie i'
my bed, an' a' at ance there comes a wee soughie o' win' i' my face,
an' I luik up an' see it was naething but the wings o' a flittin'
flee, I think wi' mysel' hoo a' the curses are but blessin's 'at ye
dinna see intill, an' hoo ilka midge, an' flee, an' muckle dronin'
thing 'at gangs aboot singin' bass, no to mention the doos an' the
mairtins an' the craws an' the kites an' the oolets an' the muckle
aigles an' the butterflees, is a' jist haudin' the air gauin' 'at
ilka defilin' thing may be weel turnt ower, an' brunt clean. That's
the best I got oot o' my cheemistry last session. An' fain wad I
haud air an' watter in motion aboot me, an' sae serve my
en'--whether by waggin' wi' my wings or whiskin' wi' my tail. Eh!
it's jist won'erfu'. Its a' ae gran' consortit confusion o' hermony
an' order; an' what maks the confusion is only jist 'at a' thing's
workin' an' naething sits idle. But awa! wi' the nonsense o' ae
thing worryin' an' fechtin' at anither!--no till ye come to beasts
an' fowk, an' syne ye hae eneuch o' 't."

All the time Fergus had been poking the point of his stick into the
ground, a smile of superiority curling his lip.

"I hope, ladies, our wits are not quite swept away in this flood of
Doric," he said.

"You have a poor opinion of the stability of our brains, Mr. Duff,"
said Mrs. Sclater.

"I was only judging by myself," he replied, a little put out. "I
can't say I understood our friend here. Did you?"

"Perfectly," answered Mrs. Sclater.

At that moment came a thunderous wave with a great bowff into the
hollow at the end of the gully on whose edge they stood.

"There's your housemaid's broom, Donal!" said Ginevra.

They all laughed.

"Everything depends on how you look at a thing," said Fergus, and
said no more--inwardly resolving, however, to omit from his sermon a
certain sentence about the idle waves dashing themselves to ruin on
the rocks they would destroy, and to work in something instead about
the winds of the winter tossing the snow. A pause followed.

"Well, this is Saturday, and tomorrow is my work-day, you know,
ladies," he said. "If you would oblige me with your address, Miss
Galbra