I was ever a lad to run after the petticoats, as is weel kent; an' it's a weary handfu' I'll be to ye, I'm thinkin'." "Ah, but ye hae a kind heart, Davie! an' ye love me weel.

I'm sure on't." "I like ye weel enoo', Jennie, though I canna say how long the feeling may bide wi' me; an' I'm kind enoo' when I hae my ain way, an' naethin' happens to put me oot.

But I hae the deevil's ain temper, as my mither call tell ye, an' like my puir fayther, I'm a-thinkin', I'll grow nae better as I grow mair auld." "Ay, but ye're sair hard upon yersel', Davie.

Ye're an honest lad.

I ken ye better than ye ken yersel', an' ye'll mak a guid hame for me." "Maybe, Jennie! But I hae my doots.