"James," he said solemnly, "dinna mak a fool o' yoursel'.

I hae long seen your ill-will at Donald.

Let it go.

Donald's aboon your thumb now, and the anger o' a poor man aye falls on himsel'." "For God's sake don't tempt me farther.

You little know what I could do if I had the ill heart to do it." "Ow! ay!" said David scornfully, "if the poor cat had only wings it would extirpate the race of sparrows from the world; but when the wings arena there, James lad, it is just as weel to mak no boast o' them." James had leaned his head in his hands, and was whispering, "Christine! Christine! Christine!" in a rapid inaudible voice.