"I used aye to think o' the first sight o' Inchkeith and the Lomond hills, and the smell o' herrings at the pier o' Leith.

What says the Word?
'_Weep not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall return no more, nor see his native country_.'" I asked him if I could do him any service.
"There's a woman at Cramond," he began timidly.

"She might like to ken what had become o' me.

Would ye carry a message ?" I did better, for at Gib's dictation I composed for her a letter, since he could not write.

I wrote it on some blank pages from my pocket which I used for College notes.