ing me sic an errand, on sic a night. But I see he's a fule-creature
a'thegither, and clean mistaen about ye. I like ye, man," he continued;
"I like a lad that will stand by his friends in trouble--I aye did it
mysell, and sae did the deacon my father, rest and bless him! But ye
suldna keep ower muckle company wi' Hielandmen and thae wild cattle. Can
a man touch pitch and no be defiled?--aye mind that. Nae doubt, the best
and wisest may err--Once, twice, and thrice have I backslidden, man, and
dune three things this night--my father wadna hae believed his een if he
could hae looked up and seen me do them."

He was by this time arrived at the door of his own dwelling. He paused,
however, on the threshold, and went on in a solemn tone of deep
contrition,--"Firstly, I hae thought my ain thoughts on the
Sabbath--secondly, I hae gi'en security for an Englishman--and, in the
third and last place, well-a-day! I hae let an ill-doer escape from the
place of imprisonment--But there's balm in Gilead, Mr. Osbaldistone--
Mattie, I can let mysell in--see Mr. Osbaldistone to Luckie Flyter's, at
the corner o' the wynd.--Mr. Osbaldistone"--in a whisper--"ye'll offer
nae incivility to Mattie--she's an honest man's daughter, and a near
cousin o' the Laird
o' Limmerfield's."

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

"Will it please your worship to accept of my poor service? I beseech
that I may feed upon your bread, though it be the brownest, and
drink of your drink, though it be of the smallest; for I will do
your Worship as much service for forty shillings as another man
shall for three pounds."
Greene's _Tu Quoque._

I remembered the honest Bailie's parting charge, but did not conceive
there was any incivility in adding a kiss to the half-crown with which I
remunerated Mattie's attendance;--nor did her "Fie for shame, sir!"
express any very deadly resentment of the affront. Repeated knocking at
Mrs. Flyter's gate awakened in due order, first, one or two stray dogs,
who began to bark with all their might; next two or three night-capped
heads, which were thrust out of the neighbouring windows to reprehend me
for disturbing the solemnity of the Sunday night by that untimely noise.
While I trembled lest the thunders of their wrath might dissolve in
showers like that of Xantippe, Mrs. Flyter herself awoke, and began, in a
tone of objurgation not unbecoming the philosophical spouse of Socrate