He was an even wilder figure than usual, for his bare legs were mud to the knees, his kilt and shirt clung sopping to his body, and, having lost his hat, his wet hair was plastered over his eyes.

Mrs.Morran said, not unkindly, that he looked "like a wull-cat glowerin' through a whin buss." "How are you, Dougal ?" Dickson asked genially.

"Is the peace of nature smoothing out the creases in your poor little soul ?" "What's that ye say ?" "Oh, just what I heard a man say in Glasgow.

How have you got on ?" "No' so bad.

Your telegram was sent this mornin'.