I canna bide to think on't." With this she broke out into a snatch of a ballad, but little of mirth was there either in the tone or the expression:-- "For he did spend, and make an end Of gear that his forefathers wan; Of land and ware he made him bare, So speak nae mair of the auld gudeman." "Come, dame," said I, "it is a long lane that has no turning.

I will not keep from you that I have heard something of this poor fellow, Chrystal Croftangry.

He has sown his wild oats, as they say, and has settled into a steady, respectable man." "And wha tell'd ye that tidings ?" said she, looking sharply at me.
"Not, perhaps, the best judge in the world of his character, for it was himself, dame." "And if he tell'd you truth, it was a virtue he did not aye use to practise," said Christie.
"The devil!" said I, considerably nettled; "all the world held him to be a man of honour." "Ay, ay! he would hae shot onybody wi' his pistols and his guns that had evened him to be a liar.

But if he promised to pay an honest tradesman the next term-day, did he keep his word then?
And if he promised a puir, silly lass to make gude her shame, did he speak truth then?
And what is that but being a liar, and a black-hearted, deceitful liar to boot ?" My indignation was rising, but I strove to suppress it; indeed, I should only have afforded my tormentor a triumph by an angry reply.

I partly suspected she began to recognize me, yet she testified so little emotion that I could not think my suspicion well founded.