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“At hame: I just walked ower.”

“Walked ower yer lane, an a’ thae sogers an’ Indians roun!”

“If yer ceevil ye’ll meet wi’ ceevilty, Mr Milne; an’ I’m gaun farther this day, an’ just looked in for yer advice.”

“Oh ye maun hae a drap after your walk,” and here he pulled out a big watch from his fob. “Gracious! it is 20 minutes ayont my time for a dram.”

Stooping beneath the table that answered for a counter, he filled a grimy tin measure, which he tendered to Maggie, who shook her head. “Na, na, I dinna touch it.”

Finding persistence useless, he raised the vessel to his mouth and with a “Here’s tae ye,” emptied it. “Hech, that does me guid,—but no for lang. Noo, lass, what can I do to serve you?”

Maggie unreservedly told him all. “An’ what’s this young Morton to you?”

“Naething mair than ony neebur lad.”

“Tell that to my grannie,” said the old buck, “I can see through a whin stane as far as onybody an’ noo unnerstan why ye turn yer back on a graduate o’ new college, Aberdeen, wi’ a kist o’ siller, and a’ for a penniless leftenant.”