CREE QUEERY AND MYSY DROLLY The children used to fling stones at Grinder Queery because he loved his mother.

I never heard the Grinder's real name.

He and his mother were Queery and Drolly, contemptuously so called, and they answered to these names.

I remember Cree best as a battered old weaver, who bent forward as he walked, with his arms hanging limp as if ready to grasp the shafts of the barrow behind which it was his life to totter uphill and downhill, a rope of yarn suspended round his shaking neck, and fastened to the shafts, assisting him to bear the yoke and slowly strangling him.

By and by there came a time when the barrow and the weaver seemed both palsy-stricken, and Cree, gasping for breath, would stop in the middle of a brae, unable to push his load over a stone.
Then he laid himself down behind it to prevent the barrow's slipping back.