"God behears," he exclaimed, with a sudden look at the distant cemetery, "it's to Double Dykes!" Dite also shot a look at the cemetery.

"He'll never get it," he said, with mighty conviction.
The two men gazed at the cemetery for some time, and at last Dite muttered, "Ay, ay, Double Dykes, you was aye fond o' your joke!" "What has that to do wi' 't ?" rapped out the smith, uncomfortably.
Dite shuddered.

"Man," he said, "does that letter no bring Double Dykes back terrible vive again! If we was to see him climbing the cemetery dyke the now, and coming stepping down the fields in his moleskin waistcoat wi' the pearl buttons--" Auchterlonie stopped him with a nervous gesture.
"But it couldna be the pearl buttons," Dite added thoughtfully, "for Betty Finlayson has been wearing them to the kirk this four year.

Ay, ay, Double Dykes, that puts you farther awa' again." The smith took the letter to a neighbor's house to ask the advice of old Irons, the blind tailor, who when he lost his sight had given himself the name of Blinder for bairns to play with.
"Make your mind easy, smith," was Blinder's counsel.

"The letter is meant for the Painted Lady.