Thomas Crann was building a house; for he was both contractor--in a small way, it is true, not undertaking to do anything without the advance of a good part of the estimate--and day-labourer at his own job.

Having arrived at the point in the process where the assistance of a carpenter was necessary, he went to George Macwha, whom he found at his bench, planing.

This bench was in a work-shop, with two or three more benches in it, some deals set up against the wall, a couple of red cart-wheels sent in for repair, and the tools and materials of his trade all about.

The floor was covered with shavings, or _spales_, as they are called by northern consent, which a poor woman was busy gathering into a sack.

After a short and gruff greeting on the part of Crann, and a more cordial reply from Macwha, who ceased his labour to attend to his visitor, they entered on the business-question, which having been carefully and satisfactorily discussed, with the aid of various diagrams upon the half-planed deal, Macwha returned to his work, and the conversation took a more general scope, accompanied by the sounds of Macwha's busy instrument.
"A terrible laddie, that Sandy Forbes!" said the carpenter, with a sort of laugh in the _whishk_ of his plane, as he threw off a splendid _spale_.