Page:Such Is Life.djvu/170

156 maunager micht be, an' tae speer twa-three ither things firbye; bit sin' yir sae skrunty, ye maun tak' yir domd sipper till yir ain bethankit ava, an' A'll gang awa' bock till ma ain comp. Heh!" And I turned away with unconcealed resentment and contempt.

"Haud a wee," said the boundary rider, setting down his buckets, and slapping the back of his neck. "Ye ken, A'm sae owrecam wi' thir awfu' mustikies that whiles A canna—Bit cam awa' tae the biggin; cam awa' tae the biggin, an' rest yirsel'." The Irresistible had scored this time. Such is life.

I helped Tommy out of his embarrassment by an occasional 'Ay, mun,' interjected into his apologetic and cordial monologue; and so we reached the hut, where, after directing me to a seat, he filled a billy with some of the water he had brought, and hung it on the crook.

"An' wha' dae they ca' ye?" he asked, turning his back to the fire, and surveying me with a kindly interest which made me feel as uneasy as if I had been sleeping in a fowl-house.

"Tam Collins," I replied readily, though interrupted by a fit of coughing as I pronounced my surname.

"Ye'll no be yin o' the M'Callums o' Auchtermauchtie?" he inquired eagerly. "A kent them weel."

I shook my head. "An' wha' dae they ca' yirsel'?" I asked.

"Tam Airmstrang—anither Tam, ye ken. An' whaur ye frae? Wha' pairt o' the kintra was ye born in syne?" A boggy-looking place for a man to carry his integrity safely across; however, I replied,

"Ye'se aiblins be acquent wi' yon auld sang:—

Aweel, A was born on the braes o' Yarra. Ye ken, the time's gane lang wi' me sin' A rin aboot the braes, an' pu'd the gowans fine. Ay, mun!"

"A-y-y, mun!" rejoined my companion, echoing my home-sick sigh. "D'ye ken—A wadna' thocht ye was a Selkirksheer mon. A wad hae thocht ye was frae Lanarksheer, ir aiblins frae"—

"Whaur micht ye be frae yirsel'?" I interrupted desperately.

He seemed about to reply, but checked himself, and looked at me absently; then he turned to the fire, took his canister from the shelf, and mechanically measured out a handful of tea. He stood gazing into the fire till recalled to himself by the boiling of the billy; then a triumphant smile invaded his stern features; he took the billy off the crook, threw the tea into it, clapped both hands on my shoulders, and quoted with fine effect that lucid passage from Burns:—

"Ha-ha-ha! The lad o' Ecclefechan, ye ken—no the lass o' Ecclefechan! Losh! A hae whiles laffit mysen gey near daft at yon! The lad o' Ecclefechan!" He gave way to another burst of hilarity, in which I sincerely joined. "A henna' thocht aboot yon a towmond syne," he