He had drawn the chest, the only seat in the room, to the side of the bed, against which he leaned his back.

A penny candle was burning in a stone blacking bottle on the chimney piece, and on the floor beside the chest stood the bottle of whisky, a jug of water, a stoneware mug, and a wineglass.
There was no fire and no kettle, whence his drinking was sad, as became the Scotch Sabbath in distinction from the Jewish.

There, however, was the drink, and thereby his soul could live--yea, expand her mouldy wings! Gibbie was far from shocked; it was all right, all in the order of things, and he went up to his father with radiant countenance.

Sir George put forth his hands and took him between his knees.

An evil wind now swelled his sails, but the cargo of the crazy human hull was not therefore evil.
"Gibbie," he said, solemnly, "never ye drink a drap o' whusky.
Never ye rax oot the han' to the boatle.