"Gibbie wadna need to gang to h'aven," said Mysie, the baker's daughter, to her mother, one night, as they walked home from a merry-making.

"What for that, lassie ?" returned her mother.

"Cause he wad be meeserable whaur there was nae drunk fowk," answered Mysie.

And now it seemed to the poor, shocked, heart-wounded creature, as if the human face were just the one thing he could no more look upon.

One haunted him, the black one, with the white, staring eyes, the mouth in its throat, and the white grinning teeth.
It was a cold, fresh morning, cloudy and changeful, towards the end of April.