Candlish was still obdurately taciturn: it was the man's nature; but Sim, having finally appraised and approved me, displayed without reticence a rather garrulous habit of mind and a pretty talent for narration.

The pair were old and close companions, co-existing in these endless moors in a brotherhood of silence such as I have heard attributed to the trappers of the west.

It seems absurd to mention love in connection with so ugly and snuffy a couple; at least, their trust was absolute; and they entertained a surprising admiration for each other's qualities; Candlish exclaiming that Sim was 'grand company!' and Sim frequently assuring me in an aside that for 'a rale, auld, stench bitch, there was nae the bate of Candlish in braid Scotland.' The two dogs appeared to be entirely included in this family compact, and I remarked that their exploits and traits of character were constantly and minutely observed by the two masters.

Dog stories particularly abounded with them; and not only the dogs of the present but those of the past contributed their quota.

'But that was naething,' Sim would begin: 'there was a herd in Manar, they ca'd him Tweedie--ye'll mind Tweedie, Can'lish ?' 'Fine, that!' said Candlish.