against the hen-house as if all his desire to depart had gone.     

       “Hoo d’ ye kin I’ll be at the T’nowhead the nicht?” he asked, grinning in anticipation.     

       “Ou, I’se warrant ye’ll be after Bell,” said Eppie.     

       “Am no sae sure o’ that,” said Sam’l, trying to leer. He was enjoying himself now.     

       “Am no sure o’ that,” he repeated, for Eppie seemed lost in stitches.     

       “Sam’l!”      

       “Ay.”      

       “Ye’ll be speerin’ her sune noo, I dinna doot?”      

       This took Sam’l, who had only been courting Bell for a year or two, a little aback.     

       “Hoo d’ ye mean, Eppie?” he asked.     

       “Maybe ye’ll do ‘t the nicht.”      

       “Na, there’s nae hurry,” said Sam’l.     

       “Weel, we’re a’ coontin’ on ‘t, Sam’l.”      

       “Gae ‘wa’ wi’ ye.”      

       “What for no?”      

       “Gae ‘wa’ wi’ ye,” said Sam’l again.     

       “Bell’s gei an’ fond o’ ye, Sam’l.”      

       “Ay,” said Sam’l.     

       “But am dootin’ ye’re a fell billy wi’ the lasses.”      

       “Ay, oh, I d’na kin; moderate, moderate,” said Sam’l, in high delight.     

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