lassie,” said Sam’l, appealingly, “to thwart her man.”      

       Sanders smiled.     

       “D’ ye think she is, Sanders?”      

       “Weel, Sam’l, I d’na want to fluster ye, but she’s been ower-lang wi’        Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learned her ways. An’ a’body kins what a life T’nowhead has wi’ her.”      

       “Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o’ this afore?”      

       “I thocht ye kent o’ ‘t, Sam’l.”      

       They had now reached the square, and the U. P. kirk was coming out. The Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet.     

       “But, Sanders,” said Sam’l, brightening up, “ye was on yer wy to speer her yersel’.”      

       “I was, Sam’l,” said Sanders, “and I canna but be thankfu’ ye was ower-quick for ‘s.”      

       “Gin ‘t hadna been you,” said Sam’l, “I wid never hae thocht o’ ‘t.”      

       “I’m saying naething agin Bell,” pursued the other, “but, man, Sam’l, a body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o’ the kind.”      

       “It was michty hurried,” said Sam’l wofully.     

       “It’s a serious thing to speer a lassie,” said Sanders.     

       “It’s an awfu’ thing,” said Sam’l.     

       “But we’ll hope for the best,” added Sanders, in a hopeless voice.     

       They were close to the tenements now, and Sam’l looked as if he were on his way to be hanged.     

       “Sam’l!”      

       “Ay, Sanders.”      

       “Did ye—did ye kiss her, Sam’l?”      

       “Na.”      

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