Meantime another conversation was going on in one of the gigs, as it bore two of the company from the place of tombs, which will serve a little for the purposes of this history.

One of the twain was a cousin of the deceased, already incidentally mentioned as taking some direction in the matter of refreshment.

His name was no less than Robert Bruce.

The other was called Andrew Constable, and was a worthy elder of the kirk.
"Weel, Robert," began the latter, after they had jogged on in silence for half a mile or so, "what's to be done wi' little Annie Anderson and her Auntie Meg, noo that the douce man's gane hame, an' left them theroot, as't war ?" "They canna hae that muckle to the fore efter the doctor an' a' 's sattled for." "It's no to be thought.

It's lang sin' ever he wrought a day's darg (contracted from 'daywerk')." "Jeames Dow luikit weel after the farmin', though." "Nae doot.