The said court was off the narrowest part of a long, poverty-stricken street, bearing a name of evil omen, for it was called the Widdiehill--the place of the gallows.

It was entered by a low archway in the middle of an old house, around which yet clung a musty fame of departed grandeur and ancient note.

In the court, against a wing of the same house, rose an outside stair, leading to the first floor; under the stair was a rickety wooden shed; and in the shed sat the father of Gibbie, and cobbled boots and shoes as long as, at this time of the year, the light lasted.

Up that stair, and two more inside the house, he went to his lodging, for he slept in the garret.

But when or how he got to bed, George Galbraith never knew, for then, invariably, he was drunk.