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 what I’m saying?”

“Nonsense, laird, nonsense. Jamie coming hame!” answered clootie’s dochter, wi’ a grin that showed her blackened stumps. “Ou, ay, he’ll be coming to marry his bit bonny sweetheart, oure by, Wattie Grahame’s dochter, ye understand, laird.”

This was setting fire to tinder. The laird lookit first black and then blue; glowred in Nancy’s withered face for a minute without speakin, like a man lost within himsell, then gieing his head a shake, and screwing his mouth up to a whissle, like a man that has, after mueklemuckle [sic] trouble, seen his way thro’ a puzzle, he clappit his bonnet on his pow, and away down the road to Rowan-brae.

At Walter’s every thing was looking dowie and mair dowie, gloomier and gloomier.—The cattle, ane after anither, had been selled to pay the landlord his rent. The barnyard was threshed out and empty. Sheriff-offishers frae Edinburgh were seen like wild cats in the ’gloming, prowling aboot his bounds wi’ docketted accounts in their side pockets, threatning poinding and horning; while to crown a’, Walter himsell, by a tumble frae his cart shaft in the dark, had gotten his arm broken. It was a hame o’cauldrife poverty and wretchedness, Misfortune after misfortune showring down upon them, had at length soured Walter’s heart, and broken doun his speerit. His wife, wha cauld have tholed her puir fate better had she been