like my father an' mither!"

He took the seat appointed him.

"Come to the table, Anerew," said the old woman, "gien sae be ye can pairt wi' that buik o' yours, an' lat yer sowl gie place to yer boady's richts.--I doobt, sir, gien he wad ait or drink gien I wasna at his elbuck."

"Doory," returned her husband, "ye canna deny I gie ye a bit noo an'

than, specially whan I come upo' onything by ord'nar' tasty!"

"That ye du, Anerew, or I dinna ken what wud come o' my sowl ony mair nor o' your boady! Sae ye see, sir, we're like John Sprat an' his wife:--ye'll ken the bairns' say aboot them?"

"Ay, fine that," replied Donal. "Ye couldna weel be better fitt.i.t."

"G.o.d grant it!" she said. "But we wad fit better yet gien I had but a wheen mair brains."

"The Lord kenned what brains ye had whan he broucht ye thegither," said Donal.

"Ye never uttert a truer word," replied the cobbler. "Gien the Lord be content wi' the brains he's gien ye, an' I be content wi' the brains ye gie me, what richt hae ye to be discontent.i.t wi' the brains ye hae, Doory?--answer me that. But I s' come to the table.--Wud ye alloo me to speir efter yer name, sir?"

"My name 's Donal Grant," replied Donal.

"I thank ye, sir, an' I'll haud it in respec'," returned the cobbler.

"Maister Grant, wull ye ask a blessin'?"

"I wad raither j'in i' your askin'," replied Donal.

The cobbler said a little prayer, and then they began to eat--first of oat-cakes, baked by the old woman, then of loaf-breid, as they called it.

"I'm sorry I hae nae jeally or jam to set afore ye, sir," said Doory, "we're but semple fowk, ye see--content to haud oor earthly taibernacles in a haibitable condition till we hae notice to quit."

"It's a fine thing to ken," said the cobbler, with a queer look, "'at whan ye lea' 't, yer hoose fa's doon, an' ye haena to think o' ony damages to pey--forby 'at gien it laist.i.t ony time efter ye was oot o'

't, there micht be a wheen deevils takin' up their abode intil 't."

"Hoot, Anerew!" interposed his wife, "there's naething like that i'

scriptur'!"

"Hoot, Doory!" returned Andrew, "what ken ye aboot what's no i'

scriptur'? Ye ken a heap, I alloo, aboot what's in scriptur', but ye ken little aboot what's no intil 't!"

"Weel, isna 't best to ken what's intil 't?"

"'Ayont a doobt."

"Weel!" she returned in playful triumph.

Donal saw that he had got hold of a pair of originals: it was a joy to his heart: he was himself an original--one, namely, that lived close to the simplicities of existence!

Andrew Comin, before offering him house-room, would never have asked anyone what he was; but he would have thought it an equal lapse in breeding not to show interest in the history as well as the person of a guest. After a little more talk, so far from commonplace that the common would have found it mirth-provoking, the cobbler said:

"An' what office may ye haud yersel', sir, i' the ministry o' the temple?"

"I think I un'erstan' ye," replied Donal; "my mother says curious things like you."

"Curious things is whiles no that curious," remarked Andrew.

A pause following, he resumed:

"Gien onything gie ye reason to prefar waitin' till ye ken Doory an' me a bit better, sir," he said, "c.o.o.nt my ill-mainnert queston no speirt."

"There's naething," answered Donal. "I'll tell ye onything or a'thing aboot mysel'."

"Tell what ye wull, sir, an' keep what ye wull," said the cobbler.

"I was broucht up a herd-laddie," proceeded Donal, "an' whiles a shepherd ane. For mony a year I kent mair aboot the hill-side nor the ingle-neuk. But it's the same G.o.d an' Father upo' the hill-side an' i'

the king's pailace."

"An' ye'll ken a' aboot the win', an' the cloods, an' the w'ys o' G.o.d ootside the hoose! I ken something hoo he hauds things gaein' inside the hoose--in a body's hert, I mean--in mine an' Doory's there, but I ken little aboot the w'y he gars things work 'at he's no sae far ben in."

"Ye dinna surely think G.o.d fillsna a'thing?" exclaimed Donal.

"Na, na; I ken better nor that," answered the cobbler; "but ye maun alloo a tod's hole 's no sae deep as the thro't o' a burnin' m'untain!

G.o.d himsel' canna win sae far ben in a shallow place as in a deep place; he canna be sae far ben i' the win's, though he gars them du as he likes, as he is, or sud be, i' your hert an' mine, sir!"

"I see!" responded Donal. "Could that hae been hoo the Lord had to rebuke the win's an' the wawves, as gien they had been gaein' at their ain free wull, i'stead o' the wull o' him 'at made them an' set them gaein'?"

"Maybe; but I wud hae to think aboot it 'afore I answert," replied the cobbler.

A silence intervened. Then said Andrew, thoughtfully,

"I thoucht, when I saw ye first, ye was maybe a lad frae a shop i' the muckle toon--or a clerk, as they ca' them, 'at sits makin' up acc.o.o.nts."

"Na, I'm no that, I thank G.o.d," said Donal.

"What for thank ye G.o.d for that?" asked Andrew. "A' place is his. I wudna hae ye thank G.o.d ye're no a cobbler like me! Ye micht, though, for it's little ye can ken o' the guid o' the callin'!"

"I'll tell ye what for," answered Donal. "I ken weel toon-fowk think it a heap better to hae to du wi' figures nor wi' sheep, but I'm no o'

their min'; an' for ae thing, the sheep's alive. I could weel fancy an angel a shepherd--an' he wad c.o.o.nt my father guid company! Troth, he wad want wings an' airms an' feet an' a' to luik efter the lambs whiles! But gien sic a ane was a clerk in a c.o.o.ntin' hoose, he wad hae to stow awa the wings; I cannot see what use he wad hae for them there.

He micht be an angel a' the time, an' that no a fallen ane, but he bude to lay aside something to fit the place."

"But ye're no a shepherd the noo?" said the cobbler.

"Na," replied Donal, "--'cep' it be I'm set to luik efter anither grade o' lamb. A freen'--ye may 'a' h'ard his name--sir Gilbert Galbraith--made the beginnin' o' a scholar o' me, an' noo I hae my degree frae the auld university o' Inverdaur."

"Didna I think as muckle!" cried mistress Comin triumphant. "I hadna time to say 't to ye, Anerew, but I was sure he was frae the college, an' that was hoo his feet war sae muckle waur furnisht nor his heid."

"I hae a pair o' shune i' my kist, though--whan that comes!" said Donal, laughing.

"I only houp it winna be ower muckle to win up oor stair!"

"I dinna think it. But we'll lea' 't i' the street afore it s' come 'atween 's!" said Donal. "Gien ye'll hae me, sae lang's I'm i' the toon, I s' gang nae ither gait."